


Racing Towards the Start

by havisham



Series: Bid Me Run [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Break Up, Coming of Age, Early in Canon, Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Fingon and Maedhros in the bliss of Valinor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as oneshot, but I kept going. I've never really posted a WIP before, so this should be fun. 
> 
>  
> 
> Characters and pairings to be added as the story progresses.

 

A soft buzzing in Findekáno’s ear roused him from his state of perfect languor. 

He watched it calmly before Maitimo shooed a fat honeybee away. It had been attracted, perhaps, by the honey they had spread on their bread for their noonday meal, or a fistfuls of flowers Findekáno had yanked out from the soft, loamy earth, thinking to present it to his mother later. For now, the flowers were scattered haphazardly around them. They were seated under the shade of a large oak tree, and Laurelin was at its full zenith. Patterns of leaves played across their faces and their hands, dark green tinged with deeper gold. 

Maitimo was patiently getting the tangles out of Findekáno’s hair, and braiding in a ribbon of gold into the plait of dark hair. He was intent upon his task, and did not look up when Findekáno stirred. 

“When I was walking here, I heard someone talking about you,” Findekáno said. 

Maitimo’s hands paused from his work. “Oh? Anything interesting?” 

“He was explaining to his friend who you were -- Fëanáro’s eldest son,” here Findekáno hesitated, and Maitimo tied up the braid securely. “But not his favorite.” 

“Oh dear,” Maitimo said plaintively, “I wish people would be more creative with their gossip.” 

“I was hoping for something more salacious myself,” Findekáno confessed with a rueful chuckle. “But really the fault lies with you -- after all, you have not raised any honest maiden’s ire for a very long time. I wonder if you’ve lost your touch.” 

“Have I?” Maitimo pushed him gently away. “You’re done now, move off.” 

Findekáno got up quickly -- too quickly -- and felt the afternoon press gently on his shoulders, beckoning him to sit and rest for a little while longer. Indeed, the woods were still, not even a bird sang. But once decided, Findekáno could very rarely be swayed from his chosen course of action. He offered Maitimo his hand, which his cousin took. 

“We should race to the river, don’t you think?” said Findekáno once Maitimo was up and had a chance to adjust his clothes, to brush of the bits of grass and breadcrumbs from them. 

“What would be the prize?”

“Why, the satisfaction of beating me, old man.” 

Maitimo clasped Findekáno’s hand and held it for a moment, considering. “I don’t know that the satisfaction would be so very great. Now that Artanis has beaten your record.” 

Findekáno frowned and said, “It hardly counts! She uses that wretchedly distracting hair of hers tactically, I tell you. It flows and it blows and gets in your face, as she steals over the finish line. Grandmother, of course, is very proud.” 

They decided that old stump ahead would be their starting line and the river road, their track. Findekáno stretched himself, allowing himself some few casual glances to Maitimo’s way. Maitimo, for his part, made no bones about watching Findekáno. 

They were off with a shout, and Findekáno quickly outpaced his cousin, who was, in truth was going rather slowly. As soon as Findekáno disappeared over the bend of the road, Maitimo slipped into the woods. 

\+ 

The road met the river in a gently curve, the gravel mixing into the sandy shore. The waves danced and sparkled in the light, and song of the dips and drops and splashes of water carried with it a lightness and playfulness that other, more serious minded waterways lacked. It was only a slim, little river, an overgrown stream in some ways, and it lasted but a few more miles until it was fed into a larger river that flow south to Tirion. 

Findekáno came upon it, a little out of breath, only to see Maitimo waiting for him there. 

“You appalling cheat!” he cried, rushing up to his cousin, who only laughed. Maitimo’s laughter was rare enough to make Findekáno pause for moment, though by then they were almost nose-to-nose. Findekáno was by no means short, but compared to his tall cousin, he often felt quite dwarfed. 

It was not the physical aspect of Maitimo’s tallness that made him feel that way -- after all, a Feanorian could look down their nose at someone no matter how tall -- or short -- they happened to be -- 

Oh, something else. Findekáno pressed his hand over the back of Maitimo’s neck and they swayed a moment, silent. Maitimo’s eyes shone bright and his mouth trembled with unexpressed amusement.

“You cheat,” Findekáno said, his breath whistling along Maitimo’s shoulder, to his neck, along his cheek. “What will your punishment be?” 

Maitimo bent his head a little forward, his tongue flicking out to catch a drop of sweat on the tip of Findekáno’s ear. “That’s for you to decide.”

Findekáno jerked back and wrinkled his nose. “Why did you ...” 

 

Very deliberately, Maitimo leaned forward -- only an inch or so -- and pressed a kiss on Findekáno’s mouth. It was a tentative kiss -- a brush of the lips and then gone, but before Maitimo could pull away, Findekáno clapped his hands firmly on both sides of Maitimo’s face, and have him a kiss that was teeth and tongue and fingers pressing against skin. 

When they separated, Findekáno blinked, looking like he had emerged from a dark cave to the world of light. His hands trailed down Maitimo’s neck, and tugged at his collar. “Maitimo, I want...” 

They landed with a thump on the sandy ground, Maitimo on top of him. Findekáno pulled Maitimo’s tunic over his head, but there was a moment when they were both tangled in its arms. Finally, Maitimo cast it aside, and Findekáno fell upon him eagerly, desire and curiosity mixed together into a heady brew. He delighted in the beauty of Maitimo’s face, and in his strong and well-knit shoulders, his skin that was dusted with freckles the color of nutmeg. 

But for all that, he did know know quite what to do, but Maitimo did, loosening the ties of Findekáno’s hose, and snaking down until, oh, Findekáno stiffened in Maitimo’s embrace and hid his face in the tangle of hair. 

Maitimo said, quietly, “Would you like me to stop?” 

“No.” Findekáno swallowed hard, tried to relax. Maitimo made soft noises, as if to soothe him, Findekáno wondered if he did that for his brothers, it certainly seemed as though he did not even notice it. 

A few strokes from Maitimo, and Findekáno came with a jerk. His cheeks were flushed, and he sat on the ground, unwilling to move. He watched Maitimo get up and wash his hands in the river, and finally, said, “Maitimo, but you...” 

Maitimo turned back to him and grinned, rubbing away the water that had spilled in the front of his hose. Findekáno watched him, mesmerized, and then said, “I would like to do the same for you.” 

Maitimo’s smile was oddly crooked and utterly charming, far different than the expression that passed for smile in Tirion. This one reached his eyes. “No need,” he said, “there will be other times.” 

“Yes.” Findekáno paused. “Will there be?” 

“If you wish,” Maitimo offered his hand to help Findekáno up, which he took. 

“Yes,” Findekáno said again, who felt, opening before him a new and strange path. He could not find a reason to regret it. 

Not when Maitimo walked with him.


	2. Chapter 2

There it was, outside the window, the flash of red he had unconsciously been waiting for. 

Findekáno left just as the tailor put down his scissors, ignoring Turukáno’s irritated exclamation. Down the marble steps, he met his mother just coming in from the garden, a basket of flowers on her arm. Cut roses, pink and red, their scent rich and heady. 

Findekáno nearly lost his footing on a loose carpet when his mother exclaimed, catching sight of him. “Where are you rushing off to? You know that we have dinner with Elenwë’s family tonight.”

He turned to look at her. “Yes, Amil, I know, I just need to step out for moment–” 

Anaire held up a handkerchief, which he took. Then, on impulse, he kissed her cheek and took a rose from her basket. Anairë laughed, surprised. It was a nice laugh, rich and low, and a rare thing in their far too serious household. “What was that for?” 

“Only that you looked so lovely,” Findekáno said, going to the door. He looked out anxiously, but could see nothing through the gates and over the throngs of people outside. 

Anairë said, rather regretfully, “When shall we see you married, my dear?” 

“Oh stop, Amil, you know Turukáno has to do things first.” 

He saw the flash again, and was out the door before his mother could reply. The streets were packed, for it was market-day, and venders shouted out their offers to him, right and left. A sale on parchment, on copper sheeting, mother-of-pearl from Alqualondë, resins from Tol Eressëa, and many more things beside. 

A new song from Makalaurë, a box of candied violets, a sharp new knife. Nothing he was looking for. Findekáno looked around. Had he only imagined Maitimo coming by. And if his cousin had been here, why had he not stopped by? 

His run slowed to a walk, and he began to meander through the city, away from the center where he lived, into the poorer districts. The streets were narrower here, and not so well-swept. There was a small fountain in an alcove, where he stopped and sat. A few children, carrying clay pots, gathered around him, giggling into their hands. Findekáno looked down and saw that he still work the absurd costume purposed for the wedding party – there was to be an exchange. Elenwë’s people were to wear blue and white and silver, and Turukáno’s, yellow, green and white. 

Findekáno looked nothing less than a giant dandelion in his clothes, and he pulled off a yellow ribbon from his shoulder and gave it to a little girl who was a bit braver than the rest, and had stepped forth, looking at him curiously. 

“Are you a clown?” she asked, accepting his gift gravely. She was very small, her dark hair tied back with a bit of cloth. Her small clever face seem too sharp somehow, there was not enough softness in it, though she was child. 

Findekáno blinked. “No. Though I suppose I look very silly?” 

She nodded. 

“May I help you?” He gestured at the large clay pot, currently empty, that lay on the ground beside her. She bit her lip, seeming uncertain, but looking at him further, she gave a cautious nod. 

She held his handkerchief and flower – giving the latter a few surreptitious sniffs, as they made their way into the even narrower side-streets, up a cobblestone hill, until, finally they came to a draper’s shop. Behind it was a door, which the girl knocked on. 

“Nindë, you foolish girl! What took you so long? I was beginning to get worried – Oh!” The young woman who opened the door flushed deeply went she saw Findekáno at the door. “Sir,” she said quickly, “I hope there was no trouble. Nindë is a good girl, she never misbehaves or –” 

“No, no, I am sorry – Nindë?” Findekáno looked down to see that Nindë had turned suddenly shy, and hiding herself behind the young woman’s skirts, and peered out at him with large, frightened eyes. 

Findekáno smiled and she gave him a tentative smile back. “Nindë is not in trouble at all. She let me bring the water pot back with her.” And he gestured to the pot he carried on his hip, forgotten in the hub-bub. 

“I will take that,” said the young woman, whose name turned out to be Herenë, and soon the sisters (for they were sisters, and the years between them were the same between himself and Turukáno) were chatting, their initial awkwardness forgotten. Usually Nindë did not have to walk so far to get water, but the fountain in the closest square was broken, and the only repairman who would come to this part of the city insisted on charging the residents an exorbitant price for fixing it.

Findekáno shook his head in disbelief and opened his mouth to say something, when a flash of color danced in front of his eyes. “What is that?” He pointed to the window, where a scrap of cloth waved. 

Herenë sighed, and Nindë said, “It is Amil’s.” Their Amil, as it turned out, was a very fine seamstress and embroideress, who had been taught her craft by – here Herenë dropped her voice – by Míriel Serindë herself. 

Findekáno raised his brows – both of them – and wondered how a student of Míriel’s could be living here, in such condition – for though the courtyard was neat, the house itself and everything in it looked like they had seen better times. But the answer to the puzzle was provided by Nindë herself. 

“Amil’s hands –” she clenched her own hands as if to demonstrate – “they were hurt, and the healers said that she was lucky to have kept them.” 

Findekáno looked down, “I am sorry to hear that.” 

She gave him a bright, uncomprehending look. “Why? It was not your doing.” 

“Nindë! Hush!” Herenë had come back with little cups of tea for the three of them. Though Laurelin was fast waning, Findekáno could not see how he could refuse, and so he sat on a cushion and drank tea, which, though was weak, was hot. After a few sips, he nodded to the scrape of color still fluttering outside the window. “It is a thing made by your mother, I think?” 

“Yes, but it is only a hair ribbon, Sir. Nindë, go get it.” Nindë was off with a swirl of brown skirts and white little legs. Findekáno turned to Herenë and said, “Please, do not call me Sir, my father is Sir, and only when he is angry! I am simply Káno.” 

Herenë gave him a cautious smile. “Of course, Sir. I mean, Káno.” 

By then, Nindë had come back with the ribbon. Findekáno peered at it and smiled. He had thought as much. It was the exact shade and color of Maitimo’s hair – it was beautifully made, if simply. He dug into his pockets, looking for the little bag of coins he had put there in the morning, before any of this took place. With a little cry of triumph, he found it, and pressed it into Herenë’s hands. Herenë flushed again, and looked as if she was going refuse. 

“Please let me have this ribbon,” Findekáno said, “I know what little I have is not enough for it, but it is a little indulgence on my part. It reminds me of – someone.” Here he blushed as much as Herenë had, and she caught his look and gave him a small smile. Nindë opened up the pouch and dumped its contents on the ground, over her sister’s protests. 

The sisters looked at the pile of gold coins on the ground, and then back at Findekáno. Who swallowed nervously. “Is that not enough? I may have more.” 

“That is –” Herenë looked distressed, “far too much, my lord, for a humble thing.” 

“No,” Findekáno said, getting up at last and pocketing the ribbon. “It is exactly the right price. Goodbye, Nindë! It was a pleasure to have met you.” Here he bowed low and kissed her hand. She giggled and curtsied. When Findekáno turned to Herenë, to do the same, the young woman only shook her head and thanked him. 

As he was leaving, Nindë cried out, “Oh, but what about your handkerchief?” 

Findekáno turned to say that she could keep it, along with the flower and his yellow ribbon, when Herenë took it from her sister and glanced at the crest embroidered on it. Her eyes widened in recognition. She gasped, “Prince Findekáno!” 

Findekáno bowed one last time, and sprinted away before anyone could stop him. 

The house was in an uproar when he returned. Turukáno, red-faced, shouted at him for being late and Anairë chuckled over the state of his clothes, which, true, were dusty and torn in some places. 

Hopefully, Irissë asked, “If Findekáno is in disgrace, isn’t it better if he should not go?” Quickly, she added, “I could stay behind and keep him company!” 

“No! Amil, tell Irissë that all of us must go, including Findekáno,” Turukáno cried, looking as though he was on the verge of tears. It took a lot to bring his normally phlegmatic brother to this state, so Findekáno, which much prompting from Anairë, went quickly to his rooms, washed, and dressed. The costume with the colors of the House of the Golden Flower was unusable, of course – one of the perils of dashing off during a fitting – but Findekáno’s ordinary formal dress robes would have to do. 

There was slight knock on the door, and Findekáno steeled himself for another lecture from Turukáno – who must be truly nervous for the dinner tonight, though Findekáno could not seek why, Elenwë was madly in love with him, goodness knew why, and her father was hardly going to call the whole thing off even if one person did not make the dress code! 

But instead, it was a servant, who handed him a letter and left as quietly as he had arrived. 

Findekáno recognized the handwriting at once – it was hard not to, Maitimo’s hand was so strong and distinctive, his father’s tengwar flowed like a river on a page. Findekáno repressed a sigh. 

Now he was rhapsodizing about Maitimo’s handwriting! He was far gone. Findekáno read quickly, as he finished his preparations for the evening. 

Maitimo had written: 

_Dear Káno,_

_I came to see you this afternoon, but your mother tells me that you ran out on a tear only a few minutes before I had even arrived. I hate to have missed you, since now we shall not see each other again for the whole summer. It will be no great hardship for you, I know, since your affairs keep you so busy._

_Do not do anything foolish._

_Best regards,_

_Maitimo_

Oh, Maitimo! Findekáno was sure that at one point, ‘dear’ had been ‘dearest’ and ‘best regards’ had been ‘love’ – he could see the uncharacteristic hesitation over both of those places. He supposed that there had been a first draft of the letter. 

Perhaps Maitimo had written it here, and Findekáno could... 

No, Maitimo would have burned that, or took it with him. Findekáno was sure he meant to tease him with such a note. He paced a little about the room and wondered if he should send off a letter in reply. But no. Glancing at the clock told him that it was too late, if he lingered any longer in his rooms, Turukáno would surely explode with fury. 

Findekáno went to the mirror to give himself a finally check. His color was high, but otherwise, he looked well enough. On impulse, he left aside his customary gold threads and tied his hair back with the red ribbon. 

\+ 

In many ways, Laurefindil was the ideal dinner-companion. 

His wit, though keen, never crossed over to meanness. He understood too, that the purpose of dining was not to show off, but to consume food, however delicately, so did not fill his companion’s ear with idle conversation when there was, say, a particularly challenging jelly (or a lobster not quite dead) on the table. 

Now, there was a lull in both the conversation and the eating, Laurefindil’s best qualities came out. Findekáno could not quite understand how Laurefindel could be so very good-looking. Certainly, his parents were pleasant-looking people, and their kindness and sophistication did much to recommend them. But Laurefindil was an entirely new creature. Often, Findekáno would pause from his soup or salad, to glance to his right, to Laurëfindil and just marvel. 

His face was perfect in profile, like a cameo carved in marble, but the delicate flush of his cheeks gave lie to that assertion. His eyes were very blue, and not mixed with grey, as Findekáno’s were. Laurefindil’s brows were a shade or two darker than his hair, and they were strongly marked, and not overly plucked, as was the fashion among certain members of the court. 

But it was Laurefindil’s hair that was his crowning glory. Findekáno, who was perfectly happy with his own black hair, thank you very much, had to concede that he often felt a faint tremor of envy whenever he saw someone with hair like Laurefindil’s. 

It was darker in color than Artanis’ hair, pure gold rather than an alloy, though the shade seemed to shift from old-gold, the color of treasure, to ripened wheat and every shade in between.  
In the candlelight, it even took on a reddish hue. 

At that thought, Findekáno sighed and looked away. 

Laurëfindil, who had been aware of Findekáno’s admiring gaze, noticed now that it was absent. He inquired, “Is anything wrong?” 

There was another admirable quality of Laurëfindil’s – his voice was rich and smooth, pitched low enough to be intimate, but not over-familiar. His perfections were quite maddening. 

Findekáno blinked. “Not at all, why?” 

Laurefindil smiled (a boyishly charming smile, the swine!) and said, “Nothing. It is only that you have been silent for a whole time, and I began to worry.” 

“Oh,” Findekáno said, feeling rather foolish, “I am sorry, I was thinking back to today.” 

“Oh yes! I have heard about your exploits – Turukáno gave us an earful coming in,” Laurefindil said, looking a little too amused over the whole thing. 

“Well yes, I was a little – distracted, but I must say, you look very well in our colors. Not that is news at all. You always look well. That is to say – I. Well, Elenwë is looking lovely, is she not?” Findekáno wished now that he could drown himself in the soup, but it was the dessert course now, and putting his face in the slice of many-tiered cake, white and gilded with edible gold and pearls made of sugar. Instead, he attacked his slice with a fork and stuffed the piece in his mouth so he would not speak anymore. 

Laurefindil spoke slowly, “Yes, Elenwë is looking well. She is very calm about the whole thing, I must say.” 

“It is only Turvo who has become a holy terror over it,” Findekáno said at last, when he was quite finished with his cake. And the rest of dessert, and the last course was given over to discussing the wedding and gossip.

The ladies left soon afterwards, going to their parlor, and Findekáno knew what was to come, and so decided that it was best done quickly. He approached his father, who was deep in discussions with Elenwë’s father over matters of dowry. Findekáno waited patiently – he had no desire to interrupt – but eventually Nolofinwë looked up and gave him a slight smile. 

Caliswë’s attentions were drawn away by Turukáno, and Findekáno sat next his father and accepted a little candy that melted quickly in his mouth, leaving behind a faint green taste of mint. 

“I have not seen you at all lately,” said Nolofinwë, to start off with. It was an innocent observation, and Findekáno resolved not to think too deeply about it. 

“Yes, I am sorry,” Findekáno started to say, but Nolofinwë interrupted him. 

“What is there to be sorry about? I am glad that you have a life outside the family. I would not like to keep my children so close than they grow stunted because of it.” 

“Like –” Findekáno stopped himself in time. Nolofinwë gave him a long look. 

“I am glad you are spending more time with Angaráto and Aikanáro, they look up to you as an elder brother. It would not do to disappoint them.”

“I hope I am a responsible friend to all who wish to befriend me,” Findekáno said carefully. “But Atar, that is not what I wanted to speak to you about. There is a broken fountain in the Weaver’s Quarter, and the children there have to walk a mile or more to get water for their families, do you not think...?” 

Nolofinwë leaned forward, his eyebrow a little raised, and listened to Findekáno make his case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Elleth, for taking a look at this.


	3. Chapter 3

Findekáno was momentarily confused to see the most talented member of Makalaurë’s woodwinds section at his door. He wondered for a moment if this was some kind of joke on his cousin’s part, but that did not seem likely, nor very funny. Makalaurë took his music far too seriously to joke about it anyway. 

Ehtelion, who was called the fairest of the Noldor, not unfairly, cleared his throat, somewhat impatiently, and Findekáno snapped back to attention. Hastily, he rang for someone to bring them tea and inquired after Ethelion’s parents and his sisters. He was answered back politely, though rather distantly. Ehtelion seemed preoccupied; his gaze was drawn to the bay-window that took up the entire south face of Findekáno’s office. Findekáno followed his gaze, and then gestured toward it. “Shall we?” 

They did. Outside, the great square of Tirion brimmed with life. It was high-summer and fruit and vegetable sellers had set up shop very near the royal offices. Maids darted between the stalls, their baskets piled high with produce.

One girl, dark-haired and lovely, cried out in dismay as a juicy, ripe peach fell from her basket, and was squashed by a guardsman’s boot. They fell into a furious argument, and it seemed that someone would have to intervene when suddenly the guardsman had a change of heart, and gave the girl a coin, presumably to buy another peach. 

She accepted it with a huff, and went off to do her business, with the guardsman following behind, with a wholly love-struck look on his face. She turned once, to give him a severe, though not entirely discouraging glance, and turned back to her purchase. 

“It’s a lovely view,” Findekáno said, “very absorbing. I find myself spending a lot of time looking out into the square. All these little dramas, played out before me.” 

“Do you not have enough to do here?” 

Ethelion hadn’t meant to be rude, probably, Findekáno supposed, so he said, “Well, I am obliged to spend an afternoon here, from time to time, and it pleases my father to know that I can obey him. The staff here give me enough to do, certainly, though I suspect I rather get in the way of their real work.” 

“I suppose you would rather be out there, having adventures and the like, than here,” Ehthelion said, rather stiffly, and turned away from the window. He took a seat near the the tea-table, at Findekáno’s wordless invitation, and though the all the chairs had been chosen for their comfort, Ehtelion devised to look as uncomfortable in it as if it was lined with spikes. 

“Now, Ehtelion, suppose you tell me what it is that I can do for you?” Findekáno said briskly, as a light knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in!” 

It was Mercas with the tea-tray, which he poured out expertly. Findekáno was pleased to see that the almond biscuits that he especially liked had been included. “Thank you, Mercas,” he said, giving his assistant a grateful smile. Mercas gave him a friendly nod -- he was not the most loquacious of men -- and went out again, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Ehtelion said, “It was your father that sent me, or rather, his assistant, who interrupted my morning rehearsals and insisted I present myself to Prince Findekáno at my earliest convenience. You have a task for me, I take it.” 

Ehtelion jerked up his chin, and looked at Findekáno in a challenging way, as if asserting that his time, at least, was a little more valuable than the other’s. 

Findekáno’s face was absolutely blank. He had no idea why he should need a flutist, no matter how talented -- or, yes, how artistically tempered. What could his father be thinking of? 

They stared at each for the moment before realization dawned over Findekáno, like the first blooming of Laurelin, bright and illuminating. 

“Oh yes, of course, I do want you!” he exclaimed, “You’re the plumbing genius everyone’s been talking about! Forgive me for being rather dim, it was just that I saw you in concert a few weeks ago, and so your musical talents were foremost on my mind. I do have a task for you, if you should chose to do it, though you mightn’t, it is rather like using a sword when a pen knife will do. You see, there a broken fountain in the Weaver’s Quarter that I have, well, I have decided to fix. You could help me, if you wish.” 

Whatever Ehtelion had expected, this outburst was not it. He retreated back to his tea, and gave a neutral-sounding assent when Findekáno offered him an almond biscuit.

“This is very good,” he said at last, when the silence between them had grown well-nigh unbearable. 

“It is,” Findekáno agreed. “The secret is the almond paste in the dough; Mercas’ mother thought it up when she was a girl. It is her most popular recipe by far.” 

“Hm.” 

And they lapsed into silence, once again. 

After the tea and biscuits had all but run out, Ehtelion said, “Yes.” 

Findekáno blinked. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, I’ll help you.” 

“Very good! I suppose you will need your supplies,” Findekáno said, getting up. He rang for Mercas again, and Ehtelion stood as well, nodding. 

“I will have to know what I’m dealing with. Don’t suppose you know?” 

“I haven’t actually seen the fountain, and I’m not quite sure where it is located,” Findekáno said, and catching Ehtelion’s withering look, he continued on, hastily, “but I know someone who can help us. Let’s get your equipment and get it done.” 

As Ehtelion was leaving, he turned back to Findekáno and said, “People really call me a plumbing genius?” 

“I’m afraid so,” Findekáno said, with his most sympathetic smile, and showed him out. 

\+ 

Nindë was quite bewildered to see Findekáno again, and she stared at Ehtelion and the large leather bag he was carrying with bright suspicion. Ehtelion stared back at her, until she turned her attention away. 

 

Findekáno said, “Hello, Nindë! I am glad to find you here.” 

“Outside my house, my lord? Yes, I am often here,” she said, with a bemused expression of someone far older. Findekáno gave her an elaborate bow, which was when she burst out giggling. She covered her mouth and looked a little guilty. 

“None of that, Nindë! I thought we were friends. Will you show us the way to your fountain?” Findekáno said, falling in step with her. She nodded. He picked up her water jug, after a brief struggle between them, she allowed him to do it. 

“My father says that you can’t be friends with royalty. And no one else would believe me when I said I’d met you. They said I made you up!” 

Ehtelion muttered something about little girls not having the imagination for all of that, but Findekáno said, “What about your sister? I assume she knows that I exist.” 

“Oh, Herenë is off to her apprenticeship in Formenos, and her mistress is very strict. Apprentices can’t write to their family for the first three months of their time there. I don’t know why. It seems like a very stupid rule.” 

“It does,” Findekáno said. “And why does your father say you can’t be friends with me? With royalty, I mean.” 

Nindë stopped in her steps and seemed to consider it. “Well, at first, Ata said I must have imagined you coming here, but once Herenë showed him the money you gave us for Amil’s ribbon, he went red and said we don’t need charity, especially from an upstart house like yours.” 

Ehtelion snorted loudly behind him and Nindë stopped and looked worried. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, no, well, yes, I suppose your father would be upset if he heard that you repeated that, but he won’t hear it from me. And there’s nothing wrong with it being his opinion, I suppose. He is a supporter of my uncle’s, I take it? That would explain Herenë being sent to Formenos. There are certainly many weavers here in Tirion, and not all so strict as that.” 

“Ata said he doesn’t want her getting distracted,” Nindë said significantly. 

“By boys,” she elaborated at Findekáno’s silence. 

“By _you_ ,” she said, when he still failed to reply. 

“Ah. Nindë, that. I hope I have always acted honorably toward you and your sister. You have to know that I have no ulterior motives towards any of you, whatsoever. You do believe me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Nindë said, after a pause, while she looked him over with a critical eye. “You are far too silly to be bad, I think.” 

Findekáno smiled and nearly bowed again -- until he remembered the jug in his hands. He had to be content a grave nod. “Thank you. I am grateful for your confidence in me.” 

“As if a prince would ever marry a weaver’s daughter,” Ehtelion muttered, who had, it seemed, begun to feel out of sorts again. Findekáno supposed it was quite understandable; his bag was very heavy and no one had offered to carry it for him.

“Why not? A king once married a weaver -- well, a embroideress, anyway,” Findekáno said. 

Ehtelion said, “And look how that turned out.” 

They lapsed into a long silence which was only broken when Nindë said, “We’re here.” 

The fountain was in the middle of a small square, almost deserted in the noon-day heat. A few stragglers wandered here and there, but there were no shops, no stalls; everything had a closed and dusty look about it, as if without the water from the fountain, the very heart of the place had ceased to beat. A melancholy wind blew through the square, picking up with it a small scrap of cloth and waved it around dispiritedly, like a flag of a defeated country. 

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Findekáno said brightly. 

The fountain itself was an old one, built at the time when High King Ingwë still ruled from Tirion, and it was decorated on all sides by vines, wrought by from marble. They ran up the curves of the fountain and wrapped themselves around a figure of a woman, seated as though she was observing her own reflection on the now-empty basin. 

The woman looked a bit like his grandmother, Findekáno thought, though perhaps it only was warm color of the stone that made him think so. Laurelin’s rays hit it such a way that it seemed like her hair as was golden as Indis’ was, and the expression her face, though worn away by time and the weather, was kindly and contemplative, and not unfamiliar. 

The statue’s hands were palmed, and a dark hole look out at them. That was where the water usually gushed out -- the hands were still stained a deep green from algae, long since dried up. 

But now, instead of water, a small brown lizard slipped out from the pipe, startled by the sound of their footfalls. 

“Hm,” Ehtelion said, and then set his bag down and opened in and began to rummage through it. He ignored both Findekáno and Nindë who sat down on the edge of the basin, and began to guess at the shape of clouds. In this part of the city, it was still possible to see the clouds and blue sky overhead. 

“Look there, that’s an Orc,” Findekáno said, pointing one particularly ill-shaped cloud that drifted slowly overhead.

“No! That’s a horse,” Nindë said. 

“You’ve obviously never seen a horse close up before.” 

“But Orcs aren’t real, silly!” 

Findekáno, already regretting bringing it up, said quickly, “Nevermind about that. Yes, I can see it now. Very horsey.” 

“I like horses,” Nindë said.

Ehtelion cleared his throat and they both looked up. “I need to go below the street. The blockage isn’t coming from here. You --” he pointed to Nindë, “go get a lantern and come back quickly and you --” he pointed to Findekáno, “are going to hold it for me.” 

“Oh, all right,” Findekáno said, getting up. Nindë took off from a different direction than they had come. She came back a few minutes later with a lantern, which she handed to Findekáno. She was strictly commanded to say there and amuse herself -- Nindë rolled her eyes, but obeyed. 

Ehtelion took out a crowbar and with Findekáno’s help they were able to lift up of the cover. There were several metal steps that went down into the dark of the sewer. 

Findekáno was rather grateful for the lantern -- it gave enough light for them to go, but not enough to see everything around them. The air below was humid and dank; more than once his boots slipped on something suspicious. 

But Ehtelion seemed to know what he was about, he lead them to a turning a few feet away from their entranceway. They made their way through a narrow passage that allowed only two people to go through in single file. As they walked, Findekáno cocked his head. He could hear faint noises echoing through the sewers. He remembered the stories he had heard as a child of serpents being released into the pipes and drains of the city by ineffectual pet-owners, but he had always assumed that they were merely urban legends. 

He did not say anything about this to Ehtelion, who was busy trying to get the water-pump to work -- there was something jamming it.

“Will we have to replace it?” Findekáno asked anxiously. 

Ehtelion said nothing, only studying it more close. 

“No, I can fix it,” he said at last. And with a brief smile, he said, “After all, I am a plumbing genius.” He worked a while, with Findekáno holding up the light, and handing him such tools that he might want, until finally he raised a hand. 

“Here,” he said, “help me.” And Findekáno sent down his lantern some ways away from the wheel and joined Ehtelion in trying to move it from its stuck position. 

They worked slowly, as not to flood the pipes right away, and the wheel of the pump was dreadfully rusted through, enough so that the grease Ehtelion had put on it hardly did a thing for it. It was difficult, sweaty work, and often their elbows would stick sharply against another’s face or ribs, but eventually, slowly but surely, there came to them the welcome sound of water rushing through the pipes. Ehtelion and Findekáno looked at each other in triumph and that was when there was loud noise and the light went out, plunging them into darkness, with something scrambling around with them, brushing against their feet. 

Findekáno pushed Ehtelion behind him -- ignoring Ehtelion’s protests that he had a crowbar, for Eru’s sake -- and reached out blindly to the creature in the sewer. His hands grabbed something -- something furry -- and they were licked by a warm, wet tongue. 

“How did a dog get in here?” 

The dog barked, but gave no other answer. 

Eventually, they all made it out, muddied and weary beyond description, Ehtelion, Findekáno, and the dog (carried by Findekáno), into the light of the square. Nindë had gone by then and no wonder -- the sky was tinted subtly silver rather than gold. It was dinner time. 

But it was not that the square was empty, far from it, for towards them strode Laurefindil, dressed in white and silver. 

The dog slipped from Findekáno’s grasp and bounded over to Laurefindil, his paws out. They all winced at what followed. Findekáno chased after him, and finally caught him just before he left the square. After a while of coaxing, he managed to lead the dog back to the fountain, which was now bubbling away. The accumulated dirt and debris on the basin began to churn up around them, but the dog allowed Findekáno to clean him, and soon he was transformed back into a rather ordinary-looking dog with long, golden-brown fur. 

Laurefindil looked regretfully at the muddy splotches on his otherwise pristine clothes, while Ehtelion pointedly ignored him, and began to wash the dirt from his face and hands. 

“I heard that you two were here from Mercas, and then I had to ask at least ten different people before I could find this place. But --” Here Laurefindil broke out into a lovely smile, “I decided to bring you something to eat,” Laurefindil explained. 

Then, a touch regretfully, he said, “I suppose I should have brought a change of clothes instead.” 

“Thank you, Laurefindil, very decent of you to bother,” Findekáno distractedly. He wondered if the dog belonged to anyone. Surely not, or else why would it be wandering the sewers by itself? 

“Would you like to go home with me, boy?” 

The dog wiggled in his arms, and licked his face, as a sort of answer. 

Eventually, it was determined that neither Ehtelion nor Findekáno were in the mood to eat -- not until they were cleaner, at least -- and so the dog was given a portion of the roast chicken meant for them. Laurefindil had ridden to the square on his horse -- which was as light of a grey as to be white, nearly -- but he lead it along, so he could walk with them. It seemed to Findekáno that there was a strange sort of tension between Ehtelion and Laurefindil, but he did not know why. It was entirely possibly that Ehtelion had a strange tensions with everyone he knew. 

The dog, though decently clean -- in Findekáno’s opinion, anyway -- was given a wide berth by both Laurefindil and Ethelion, and by the people on the streets. It was true that there was a distinct, doggy sort of odor that followed him around. But considering his still-murky origins, that was easy to forgive. 

The sky was steeped in silver by the time Findekáno came home, with the dog sniffing the ground behind him. He was let in readily enough, but the guardsmen balked at letting the dog in. 

It took some persuasion on Findekáno’s part to change their mind -- as well as a promise for some time off during the autumn festival -- but soon enough they were in the courtyard of Nolofinwë’s house. Now, Findekáno was not quite valiant enough (or foolish enough) to try to get the dog inside -- not yet anyway, so he lead the dog to the stables and got a blanket for him to sleep on.

“Now,” he said, stroking the dog’s side, “what should your name be? Your fur is a very pretty color when it isn’t wet, almost the color of honey... Perhaps, hm, how about Linnen? Do you like that?” 

The dog rolled over, and presented his other side to be scratched. Findekáno smiled and said, “All right, Linnen, go to sleep. We’ll work out the rest in the morning.” 

 

*

Findekáno woke to find his little brother’s face pressed into his chest. Arakáno blinked and looked at him sleepily. Then he buried his head back onto Findekáno’s chest and mumbled, “You smell like wet dog.” 

“Hm? Who let you out of the nursery?” 

“No one let me out, I _escaped._ ” 

“Arakáno, you will be the death of us. I’m sure I wasn’t half as much trouble when I was your age.” After saying so, Findekáno sat up and hauled Arakáno to his lap. His little brother did not make it easy; Arakáno could wiggle out of close confines with the best of them. But as soon as Findekáno got up, and began to stagger to the washroom, Arakáno decided it would be better to cling to him like a burr, even when Findekáno began to clean his teeth. 

“Aren’t you going to brush your teeth? Comb your hair?” Findekáno asked, but Arakáno only made a face and shook his head. 

“Little beast!” Findekáno said, not without affection and Arkáno stuck out his tongue. 

“Finno,” Arakáno said later, when Findekáno had begun to dress. 

“Hm?” Findekáno’s head appeared out from snowy folds of his shirt. 

“Ambarussa promised me that they would show me something that they’d made for me. Will you take me to Uncle Fëanáro’s house so I can see what it is?” 

“Knowing them, knowing you, it’s probably a cannon... Or a battering ram. Anyway, I am needed in town today. Irissë can take you.” 

“But she won’t! She’s fighting with Tyelkormo this week. She says he’s been unspeakably vile to her, that they are no longer friends.” 

“Mm. Give it another week then.” 

“ _Finno._ Please! Don’t you want to go? And see Maitimo?” 

“Maitimo is away for the summer --” 

“He isn’t, he’s come back--” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Irissë told me.” 

“How does Irissë know when I don’t?” 

“I haven’t been crawling through the sewers for days, for one,” said Irissë, striding into the room, and kicking away a robe that lay near her feet. Findekáno, who always thought himself as a rather patient and loving elder brother, wondered why he deserved to such obnoxious brats for siblings. 

Such was life in Arda Marred. 

He finally managed to chase both Arakáno and Irissë away from his rooms, but not before they had extracted a promise from him to go to Uncle Fëanáro’s house that afternoon. Irissë had especially wanted to go because -- “Tyelkormo won’t know that I’m ignoring him all the way from here. I’ll hunt with Carnistir instead.” 

“You’ll break your bow over his head,” Findekáno said, rather desperately. 

“Then Tyelkormo can make me a new one,” Irissë said, the very spirit of tranquility. Arakáno shuddered, but Findekáno was far too grown-up to do so. Instead, he merely nodded, ceding defeat. 

\+ 

As it turned out, Anairë was glad to see them go. “Go! Go! I shouldn’t want you. The house will be filled with Elenwë’s sisters and her mother. Though I suppose Irissë should stay and receive them.” 

“Oh Amil, no! Must I?” Irissë’s butter knife stabbed through her crumpet, she looked ready to do violence. 

But Anairë was not at all disturbed by this. “No, I shall be enough, I think. But you cannot run away from these responsibilities forever, you know.” She looked around to her children, all present, except for Turukáno, who never stayed for breakfast. 

“That goes for all of you.” And she gave Findekáno an especially hard look.

Findekáno blandly stared back and nibbling on a strawberry. 

“Me as well?” Arakáno asked hopefully. 

“Arakáno, don’t be silly. What responsibilities do you have?” Irissë said, still irritable over her close call. 

“He can be the Master of Escapes and Lock-picking,” Findekáno said, finishing with his strawberry and moving on to the melon. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Anairë said, with a distant look in her eye -- Findekáno knew that look, it meant that his mother would soon be paying Aunt Eärwen’s house for rest, relaxation, and copious drinking. Angaráto had told him all about it one bored afternoon when they had had nothing else to talk about. 

Anairë sighed. “Arakáno’s nurse-maid just gave notice. What I am to do with you all?” 

She followed them out to the front hall after breakfast was over and made both Findekáno and Irissë promise solemnly that they wouldn’t let Arakáno out of their sight. Anairë looked a little wistful when she finally shooed them away and Findekáno decided that he would make sure that his mother would have a really _good_ bottle of wine with her, the next she should go to Aunt Eärwen’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, Elleth, for beta-ing. ♥
> 
> And in the next chapter, Maedhros makes his triumphant comeback! Dude loves his comebacks.


	4. Chapter 4

The city fell away from the road and rolling hills replaced the buildings. It proved to be a windy day, gusts snatched at their cloaks and ruffled their hair. Grass grew tall on the side of the road and they stopped after a mile or two to let their horses nibble on it, and waited for Arakáno, on his little pony, to catch up. They talked enough so that Arakáno should not notice them waiting and mind it, and for the most part, he did not. 

Arakáno was more preoccupied with the fact of Linnen’s existence. Their first meeting had been one for song and story -- both the dog and the boy had fallen immediately in love. They had clung to each other when the time came to leave and Arakáno’s howls when the gate closed behind him were matched only by Linnen’s, on the other side of the wall. 

Now, Findekáno knew it was childish to mind Linnen’s apparent faithlessness. He had not much right to it, having meet the dog only a day before Arakáno had, but -- 

“Why couldn’t we take him with us? Ambarussa would have wanted to see him, I’m sure,” Arakáno said after he had calmed down a little.

“Dear, that dog is filthy still, you saw the way Alatos kept eyeing him. He is going to have the scrubbing of his life,” Irissë said. She shook her head at the memory of the head groom’s reaction to a dog from the streets in his stable.

Arakáno wailed even louder, making a farmer on the side of the road look up from his cart to stare at them. 

Findekáno said, “Hush, you two. If you don’t behave, I’ll send you both back.” 

Irissë said immediately, “I’d like to see you try.” 

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them blinking. Silence reigned for a time (only slightly broken up by Arakáno’s loud sniffs), and only when Findekáno blinked did the tension break. 

Irissë snorted sharply and urged her horse into a canter. She said as she passed, “You’re far too easy to manage, Findekáno.” 

Findekáno gave a weary sigh but did not protest. 

She was right, after all. 

When Arakáno came up behind him and opened his mouth, Findekáno said, “Don’t you start! You’ll see Linnen when you get home.” 

“No, his name isn’t Linnen. It’s Alcanarmo! Or maybe Narmokáno...”

Findekáno felt a dull ache at his temples, as if someone was dancing with very light slippers on his brain. He wondered if his mother -- or Maitimo, come to think of it -- felt this pain at all times. 

+

Eventually, the road split in two, one part going off further north and the other leading to the house of Fëanáro. There was no sign or symbol to show the way, anyone who knew to go this way would have no use for one. Instead, the new road cut through dense woodlands and then spread out to a gently hilly countryside, and gave up any pretense of being a road at all. Instead it divided again into many different paths. Some went to the forge, others to the stables, while still others went to the hills beyond the house, to the gardens. 

The house itself was set on a lawn of velvet-green grass. The House of Fëanáro was very fair in those days, though it looked more like a beautiful sort of hodgepodge rather than a serene and lovely whole.

The original house, built before Maitimo had been born, looked much like the palaces of Tirion plucked into a bucolic setting. It was made of creamy white marble, with all the flourishes of that particular style -- as peerless as wedding cake. Now, it was covered by a special sort of ivy that had been a side project of Fëanáro’s -- he had worked with Yavanna to see if he could make it more hardy and more decorative. It was certainly that -- its leaves were almost translucently green so that looking from a window covered with it, the viewer would get the impression of looking out of a porthole into the sea. 

They rode past Makalaurë’s tower, which was set off from the house -- indeed, it was its own structure altogether. It stood glittering, slim and built of dark blue stone. Often the loft doors were locked, and strains of music would filter down from the windows up high. Or -- only the sound of Makalaurë tearing through pages and pages of his compositions, despairing at getting anything right. 

Such was the burden of genius. 

“Do you hear anything?” Irissë asked, but the tower was almost eerily silent.

At last they came up to the stables which were Tyelkormo’s natural abode. It was not far from the forges, whence no smoke issued. Tyelkormo himself was not there and neither was Huan. After the horses and the pony had been fed and stabled, Irissë dashed off to look for her cousin. In passing, she said that if she couldn't find Tyelkormo, she take Carnistir hunting. In truth, Findekáno didn't quite know where or how Carnistir spent his time, and he thought that this pleased his cousin well enough. But perhaps Irissë knew something he did not. That seemed very likely. 

He looked at the silent forge -- Uncle Fëanáro and Curufinwë would spend most of their time there, and it was odd to see it unused.

Findekáno and Arakáno wandered out into the garden, to find Ambarussa, or someone else -- anyone else. They walked down the hill, and came to Nerdanel’s old stomping grounds -- her sculpture gardens. The grass here was long enough to be springy under their feet, but not long enough to make it difficult to walk. The sculptures were larger than life, smoother than life, curved and smooth, cast in bronze and lovely, with enough nooks and crannies to make for good climbing, which Findekáno knew from fond experience. 

He had spent many a long summer days in this garden, on the long, the silver-tinted afternoons when his lessons had ceased. Then Nerdanel was still making these sculptures, assembling them here on the lawn. They were set singly or in groups of twos and threes. When Findekáno had asked Maitimo for the reasons for the groupings, and sometimes bizarre contortions that some of them suffered, his cousin had only laughed and said that he was too young to know. 

Now, looking at them with adult eyes, Findekáno was still not sure what he was supposed to see. 

Except, perhaps, some of the more stuffier lords in Tirion and Valmar would find some of the figures a bit …suggestive. But that spoke more of their own preoccupations than anything else, he was sure. 

They made their way to a sculpture of a woman lying on her side, one hand propping up her head and the other lost in the folds of her skirts. She had contented look about her, with her eyes drooping downwards and her lips lifted up. Her features had become badly eroded through the years; the bronze’s surface was streaked liberally with green and black. 

In truth, the work of the weather had rendered the figure almost abstract -- until it echoed the hills rather more than it did the elven figure. Around it bloomed a bank of lilies of different colors -- orange, yellow, red, and white. The wind picked up again and gave rise to pollen-dust into the air. 

In the shade of the statue and partially hidden by the lilies lay another work of Nerdanel’s (and Fëanáro’s too), a young, rangy elf, with an arm thrown over his head. His auburn hair had gotten tangled in grass, thanks, no doubt, to the wind and his own carelessness. 

“Hello, Pityo. Get up, will you?” Findekáno’s boot nudged at Ambarussa’s side, and his cousin groaned. He pushed Findekáno away with a scowl. 

Arakáno dropped down on his hands and knees and said, excitedly, “Hello, Ambarussa! I am here for my present.” 

“Ouch. Very to the the point, aren’t you?” Ambarussa said, patting the ground next to him. Arakáno crawled over and sat next to him, looking very happy. 

“What are you doing out here? We only happened to see you, riding past,” Findekáno said, leaning against the sculpture. The surface felt hot against his arm, and he shifted himself away again. 

Ambarussa narrowed his eyes and looked out to the road, half-hidden by trees, that skirted around the small valley that held the garden, and came to the house. 

“Amil was here today,” he said moodily. “And of course, she and Ata fought like lions. She left before noon and Telvo went with her. I came this far and -- I stayed. Ata went a few minutes and Curvo went with him. They said they were for Tirion, however.” 

“Oh, I am sorry,” Findekáno said, and he meant it. 

Fëanáro was by no means an easy man to deal with, and Nerdanel had lasted far longer than anyone would have expected. Their separation had been long coming, so often enough they seemed to come together again if only to defy the naysayers.

“Yes, thank you.” Ambarussa looked cast down for a moment, but then he smiled. “Arakáno, come on then. I’m only sorry it wasn’t ready for your begetting day.” He got up and began to dust off his clothes. Arakáno sprang up eagerly and followed him towards the woods.

He turned, once, to wave at Findekáno. 

Findekáno, belatedly remembering his mother’s words, shouted to them. “Pityo! Look after him!” 

Ambarussa shouted back: “Don’t worry! And if you need him -- Maitimo is in the library!” 

“Thank you!” And Findekáno turned around and made his way up the hill, to the house. 

\+ 

The front-door was unlocked, as usual for that time of day. Findekáno called out a greeting, but got no response. That was also usual, for servants did not last very long in Fëanáro’s house, and besides, his uncle had a great deal to say about doing things yourself -- or having your children do them, in any case.

The air, at least, was cool against the rising heat outside. Findekáno’s feet made little noise against the deep carpets of the great hall, but slightly more as he rapidly ascended the stairs. He ran his hand over the wide handrail that curved gently down. 

It was perfect for sliding down on. 

Findekáno knew that from experience. He was far too old now -- far too mature to do that now. Though, there was no one around to observe him... he went up the stairs quickly, to resist the temptations. 

Of course, there was no one watching... 

Findekáno touched the handrail once more, feeling its width and smoothness, and the way it curved downward, gently to the bottom of the stairs. There was nothing for it, he would have to go down. He would be a fool if he went so far and did nothing. And so he grabbed the top post and got comfortable. He went down fast, the stairway around him became nothing more than a blur. 

There was no landing to dread, not like the stairways in his own house. The ride was over disappointingly quick and he vaulted over the elaborately carved finial of the bottom newel, and did a neat flip at the foot of the stairs. 

It was perfect, and that was where his luck ended -- 

The carpet slipped from under him and Findekáno collapsed into a heap. But he was up within a blink of an eye and up the stairs again. Despite the ache at the back of his knees, Findekáno could not find it in him to regret his actions. 

The whole thing had been altogether too much fun for that. 

He raced down the upstairs hall until he came to the doors of the library and opened them without knocking. If the house was hushed, then the library was positively silent. Not a thing stirred the air, all the blinds were drawn, and only the glow of lights above him gave clue that the library was occupied.

Findekáno went up the elegantly turned spiral staircase to the second story. On one side of him was a solid wall of books -- Philosophy, Metaphysics, Epistemology. A little beyond that, there was a sizable shelf devoted entirely to speculative works about the lands of Endórë, about who remained there, and why, and what they did. He paused a little on one title -- Elwë: The Fate of the Lost King, but eventually he passed it over to come to the end of the stacks. 

And at the end of the stacks was Maitimo. He was hunched over a pile of books, so many that his small desk was unequal to the task of holding them. One large one (supporting a stack of smaller books) looked ready to topple over. Maitimo was wholly absorbed in his studies; he did not seem to notice that disaster was imminent. It would be an easy thing to reach over and push it back to safety. And this Findekáno began to do.

Then two things happened at once: Findekáno steadied the book and Maitimo threw out his arms, meaning to stretch them. He hit Findekáno squarely on the chin and Findekáno let go of the book, letting it fall to the floor. It missed Maitimo’s foot, but the others did not. 

Maitimo’s chair fell backwards and he put his arms around Findekáno, who felt grateful indeed for his tall cousin’s embrace. 

But still, this was not exactly how Findekáno had hoped find himself in Maitimo’s arms. His chin smarted and Maitimo’s lips trembled, as if he wanted to laugh.

“Are you all right?” Maitimo asked, when he let Findekáno go. 

He was; the only thing damaged was his pride and many of his family would have said that Findekáno had little enough of that. 

“Yes,” Findekáno replied, “ I am. How is your foot?”

“I’ll live,” Maitimo said lightly. But still, he was limping a little when he went over to the windows and pulled the cord to lift the blinds. He dismissed Findekáno’s attempts to help -- and indeed, Fëanáro had devised it so that a small pull of a silk cord lifted the blinds up and up until the two-storied windows were exposed and Laurelin’s light flooded into the library. 

“Help me put away these books?” Maitimo’s tone was brisk, and Findekáno only nodded. 

The books themselves were on various subjects from around the library, and organized in a somewhat arcane system of Maitimo’s own devising. It was another quarter of an hour before they saw each other again, this time downstairs, in front of the fireplace. Here, the polished wooden floors gave way to plush carpeting, and the chairs were deep and comfortable, meant to keep the sitter fixed in their comfortable grasp. 

“Sit down,” Maitimo commanded. “Let’s take a look at that chin of yours.” Then he turned to rummage through the drawers of the desk most close to the door. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Findekáno protested as quickly as he obeyed. He selected a chair that seemed to have the least amount cushioning in it. But it was all for naught -- when he sat, it felt as if he had fallen, bottom-first, into quicksand. Maitimo had come back with a clean rag and small tub of balm. 

He shrugged at Findekáno’s questioning look. “There are bandages and things in every room of the house. I don’t usually need them now that the boys are mostly grown, but still they are good to have around.” He bent down and dabbed the balm on Findekáno’s chin with the rag. 

Findekáno hissed in surprise. It stung more than he expected it to. Maitimo hummed in sympathy. “It’s one of Estelindë’s concoctions. Tyelko is convinced she makes it sting more than it ought to. Of course, he’s the one who has cause to use it the most.” 

It was maddening to have Maitimo so close to him, and yet-- 

Why didn’t Maitimo say anything? His large grey eyes peered down at him, and they contained more than a little trace of humor in them. Maitimo’s long, tapering fingers on Findekáno’s chin, brushing, at times, against his lip. But he said nothing. 

_He regrets it._

The realization came like a blow, unexpected and painful. It nearly took Findekáno’s breath away. And surely his expression changed because Maitimo looked at him inquisitively. 

“Finno...?”

“Maitimo, this will not go further if you do not wish it to. I will not make you unhappy.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“What -- I mean, before. What we did. Say it now, and I’ll forget about it. We will be as we were before.” 

Maitimo let him go and sat beside him. “You never replied to my letter.” 

Findekáno had a sudden vision of the letter, buried under a mound of clothes in his room. Perhaps a maid had picked it from the pocket into which it had been stuffed, and put it back on the table. He had no idea. He was an idiot. 

Findekáno cleared his throat, but he still sounded nervous when he spoke.“I did not know I could have replied to that. It was a very perplexing letter. You said you would be away and now you are here, and if you did not know I had left because I thought I saw you out the window...” 

“I did not know.” 

“Why are you not in Formenos?” 

“Why are you here?”

“I asked first.” 

“Oh,” Maitimo made a vague gesture that managed to encompass both the library and Findekáno himself. He said, rather blithely, “The library there is still very much incomplete.” 

And then, more seriously, he said, “But really, it was because Ata decided that he had some commissions here that he had to finish. You know how it is -- if he stays, we all stay, if he goes, we all go. And besides, I wanted to see you.” 

“But you didn’t visit again.” 

“I didn’t have a chance. And anyway, I’ve heard that you are busy dining with Laurefindil to take much notice of my absence.” 

“Maitimo, don’t joke, you’re terrible at it. You get the oddest expression on your face, you look almost possessed.” 

“Makalaurë says that too, but I think it’s because you two simply fail to comprehend my sort of humor.” 

“Comprehend this! Laurefindil is a friend of mine and he is very beautiful, that is true --” Maitimo opened his mouth, he looked terribly annoyed, but Findekáno continued on, determined to have his say. “He is beautiful like a well-executed painting is beautiful. I love him -- as I do all my friends. What I feel for you is completely different.” 

“You do not love me as a friend?” 

“You know what I mean. Don’t tease.” Findekáno put his head on his hands and stared glumly at the patterns in the carpet. 

Maitimo softened. He came nearer to Findekáno and bumped his shoulder against him. 

“Finno,” he said softly. “I came back because it made no sense for me to stay away.” 

“You don’t regret what happened between us?” Findekáno lifted his head and looked at him. Maitimo shook his head. 

“I was afraid that you might. I did want you to feel trapped into something you did not want.” 

“Nonsense,” Findekáno said, and leaned over and kissed Maitimo. The kiss was a little awkwardly done -- he did not exactly have much experience in kissing anyone, though he was confident in his ability to learn quickly -- and quickly over. 

Still, Findekáno’s hand caressed Maitimo’s cheek, and he was pleased to note a considerable blush upon it.

At Findekáno’s smile, Maitimo tried to bluster -- “It is only my stupid rotten complexion, I redden at everything. Haru tells me that it is quite a handicap in the diplomatic field.” 

“I have never seen you blush like that in council,” Findekáno said, very reasonably, he thought. 

“And I have never seen you awake in council, but we must assume that it is possible,” Maitimo said, getting up. 

“That was only one time!” Findekáno protested, getting up as well. “I cannot be wholly blamed for it, Arakáno kept me up all night, and then Atar told me at breakfast that I was expected to attend...” He followed Maitimo out the door. “Where are we going?” 

Maitimo did not turn when he said, “To the kitchen.” They went down the hall and Maitimo touched a panel on the wall gently. The wall retracted into an opening, and they went down the back steps quickly. 

“And why are we going to the kitchen?” Findekáno had a wild vision of licking honey from the point of Maitimo’s ear. But surely that would be unsanitary? Not to mention rather sticky. He wished his heart wouldn’t flutter so at the thought. Perhaps they could...

“To make supper,” Maitimo said shortly. And then at Findekáno’s puzzled looked, he said, “I thought we would be able to eat leftovers from yesterday, but with you and --”

“Arakáno and Irissë.” 

“Yes, and the more the merrier. But now someone has to make the food.” 

“Er. Maitimo. What happened to the cook?” 

They had come into the kitchens at that point. Maitimo sighed. “He gave notice after Carnistir found olives in the tomato sauce and -- well, you know.” 

“Oh, that couldn’t have been very pleasant.” 

“It was very unfortunate mess,” Maitimo agreed. 

\+ 

Findekáno was tasked with chopping the onions and garlic, and this he tackled with the grim determination that he reserved for especially unpleasant work. When Maitimo told him that he was cutting them too thickly, he nodded and began to cut them into smaller pieces. 

It was a tedious task and there were a lot of onions to go through. 

(Though, thankfully, not so much garlic.) 

Findekáno’s attention wandered. He had never spent much time in kitchens, either here or in his own home. Food, for him, was a thing either to be bought from the market or brought to him, as was right. But Maitimo moved through the kitchen in a way that indicated long familiarity with the place. Just now, he was taking out pieces of beef out from the pot. 

“Put the onions here, Finno,” he said, indicating the pot. And so Findekáno did, and what was more, he stood at the stove and watched them brown, with occasional stirring from himself. Maitimo handed him a small bundle of herbs, tied neatly with twine. This he threw into the pot.

Salt and pepper soon followed. 

Then came a bottle of wine, which gave Findekáno pause.

“Are you sure about this?” he said, looking at the label. It was one of Uncle Fëanáro’s better wines, a red from around Valmar. It seemed that his uncle’s famous antipathy for all things Vanya did not extend to their wine, which was excellent. 

“Yes, put most of that in,” Maitimo said. He was slicing up a loaf of bread. Findekáno did as he was told, but saved a mouthful or two for later. Then it was time to put the beef back into the pot and put the pot, covered, into the oven. 

When the pot was safely put away, Findekáno took a swig of the wine, and handed it off to Maitimo, who accepted it, and finished it in one gulp. 

“That should be ready in an hour,” he said, putting down bottle. 

“Oh good,” Findekáno said. “What shall we do in the meantime?” 

“Would you like to see some of my newest research on Endórë? It’s upstairs in my room.” 

“Oh, yes, I would.” 

Findekáno linked his arm with Maitimo’s, and they left the kitchen. 

 

\+ 

“Fascinating,” Findekáno murmured as he rustled the pages restlessly. He put the sheaf of papers down. as soon as Maitimo emerged from the washroom, trailing steam behind him. 

Maitimo shook his head ruefully. “Are you sure you do not want to freshen up? I still have some of the clothes you’ve left here.” 

“I’m sure I’ve outgrown them,” Findekáno said, pulling moodily at his collar. Maitimo stopped in front of him and touched the side of his face. 

After a tender moment or two, Maitimo said, “Findekáno, is it true that you’ve been in the sewers?” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Almost everyone. They know I’m very interested in what happens to you. But I don’t know why you did it.” 

“To help Ethelion fix a fountain -- it was my idea.”

“I thought as much. What do you think of my paper?” 

“Fascinating.” 

Maitimo looked at the papers that were half-crushed under Findekáno’s hand. He raised an eyebrow. “What was it about?” 

At Findekáno’s sudden guilty look, Maitimo said, “You didn’t read it.” 

“It will be fascinating when I read it.” 

“That’s all right,” Maitimo said, though his tone made it clear that it was anything but. 

Findekáno got up and went to the washroom. He washed his hands, again, thoroughly, but the smell of the onions still lingered. He examined his face in the mirror. He looked exactly the same as he had this morning, give or take a faint tanning on his face. Findekáno knew he was not ill to look at -- he could hardly could be otherwise. 

But he was not -- well, beautiful. Not as Maitimo was, or as Laurefindil was. His face could only described as good-natured -- or perhaps unconventionally handsome, if one was feeling generous. 

And he was not feeling very generous at the moment. 

“Finno, come out of there,” Maitimo called from the other room. 

Findekáno sighed and with one last glance at the mirror, he turned and came out of the washroom. He went to Maitimo’s bed and laid down there, and Maitimo joined him. Silence descend between them, not uncomfortable so much as it was familiar, the silence between friends who did not need to fill up their time with talk. 

“You don’t need to take care of me, you know,” Findekáno said suddenly. 

Maitimo shifted against him and sighed. “I know.” Then he cocked his head, curious. “Do you feel like I try to manage you?” 

“No. Well, yes. I do not think it is a conscious thing you do, only -- you are used to being obeyed.” 

Maitimo was silent for a moment, and Findekáno watched him avidly. His profile was sharp against the wall. They had pulled down the shades so that Laurelin’s light filtered through only weakly, giving the room a warm, honey-toned glow. 

Maitimo turned to him and asked, “Do your siblings always obey you?”

Findekáno snorted loudly. “Hardly ever, but you have a better hold on yours than I would have with mine.” 

Maitimo turned his attention back to the ceiling, looking at intently, as if it had some secret to reveal. He said, “Perhaps. But it’s difficult not be drowned out.” 

“Hm,” Findekáno said, leaning in to kiss the crook of Maitimo’s neck. “Have Makalaurë yell for you. He’s very good at projecting his voice.” 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Maitimo said, turning to face Findekáno, who gave him a silly grin. They watched each other for a moment before Maitimo’s hand traveled slowly to Findekáno’s hip. 

Findekáno bit his lip and tried not to look so expectant. He did not succeed, but after the first few kisses, he did not mind if he did. Maitimo shifted so he was straddling Findekáno, who wrapped his arms around Maitimo’s waist. 

“Yes, yes,” Findekáno said, “Maitimo, please.” He wanted everything at once, he had to have it or else he would die, he was sure of that. He tugged at Maitimo’s clothes, trying to touch naked skin, and Maitimo was doing the same --- to their mutual frustration. 

Findekáno pushed him gently away and began to unbutton his tunic when Maitimo lifted his head and sniffed the air. 

“Do you smell something?” 

“No, nothing,” Findekáno said, taking his hand, tangling Maitimo’s fingers with his own. Maitimo gave him one of his crooked smiles. 

“ Findekáno---” he began, but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. 

It was Ambarussa, who said, “Nelyo! When’s supper? The kitchen is full of smoke.” 

Behind Ambarussa came another voice, younger and still yet piercing. “Where’s Findekáno?”

Findekáno could not resist a low groan. It did not help when Maitimo ruffled his hair and looked vaguely apologetic. He got off of Findekáno and said lightly, “I told you I smelled smoke.” 

Findekáno gave him black look, which did not last. They dressed quickly, and each checked to see that the other was not too suspiciously rumpled. When Maitimo opened his door, the doorway was empty. The smell of smoke was stronger here, and they made their way hurriedly to the kitchen.

The beef stew was not entirely beyond saving. In fact, it was quite edible, or so Maitimo declared, as he stirred it around. Yes, it was only a bit dry -- “Finno, put a little bit of water in this.” 

Findekáno was doubtful, but he put out the bowls in the places, as requested. It was then Irissë came back, looking triumphant. Carnistir came back with her, looking wretched. No other news of their hunting emerged. Tyelkormo was still missing. 

When asked about him, Irissë only laughed and Carnistir coughed pointedly. He looked unusually pale but he did not volunteer any other information. Findekáno found himself watching both of them closely, but could get no clues about Tyelkormo’s whereabouts. 

“He isn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere, I hope,” Maitimo said. 

“Probably not,” Irissë said cheerfully. She and Caranthir had brought back a string of rabbits with them, and after eyeing the stew for a moment, they decided to roast them. Arakáno was sent out into the garden to gather some vegetables. After a moment, Findekáno went after him. 

They went out the kitchen door and followed the short gravel path to the gardens. 

“Arakáno, what did Ambarussa give you?,” Findekáno said, his curiosity getting the better of him at last.

His little brother gave him a happy look. “Wait until you see him. He’s magnificent!” 

Findekáno stopped short. “... He is?” 

The herb and vegetable garden was the twins’ responsibility and they took it seriously. It was separated from formal gardens by a low stone wall. It was there they found Tyelkormo and there was no more time to talk. It was not clear to Findekáno if he was trying to hide -- if so, he was doing a poor job of it -- his fair head was visible over the wall, and besides, Huan was with him, and there was no hiding him. Huan looked up and gave Findekáno a bark of greeting. 

“Who’s there? Findekáno?” Tyelkormo said, perhaps recognizing Findekáno’s step. He got up and propped himself against the wall. Tyelkormo was in a sorry state. His hunter’s clothes were caked with mud. Only his face and some of his hair were somewhat clean. 

Arakáno clapped his hand over his mouth, but it did not hide his peals of laughter. Tyelkormo stared down at him grimly, but said nothing. 

“What happened to you?” Findekáno said. He did want to laugh -- if only because it would set a bad example for his brother. (He was no stranger to futility.) 

“We settled our argument, Irissë and I,” Tyelkormo explained grimly, and would say no more. 

\+ 

Supper was delayed until Tyelkormo could be made presentable. Belatedly, someone (Carnistir, begrudgingly) was sent to see if Makalaurë had eaten anything that day. He had not. By the time Makalaurë came to table, everyone else was already seated. 

He was grave and silent coming in, too abstracted to take much notice of anyone. He gave a vague hello to Maitimo and made his way to his usual seat - the one between Maitimo and Tyelkormo. Findekáno was sitting there at that moment and Makalaurë nearly sat on his lap before catching himself. 

Makalaurë blinked. “Findekáno? What are you doing here? Have you followed Maitimo back home again?” 

“We’re having supper, Makalaurë,” Maitimo said, pulling out a seat on the opposite side of him. 

“Yes?” Makalaurë looked around, to the slightly burnt stew, the hastily roasted rabbits, and inexpertly cut salad, and especially to the expectant faces of his brothers and cousins. 

He smiled and sat down next to Maitimo. “Ah. Good.” 

\+ 

It was a good supper, and a good evening afterward. They gathered in the parlor off the great hall, and Makalaurë took out one his smaller harps and began to play. Maitimo began to sing -- an old song from the Great Journey, one that the Elves would sing after a long time of walking-- for they did not have days or nights then. The fire burned down, and in the dimness little gemstones embedded in the vaulted ceiling above them seemed to glow like stars. 

Maitimo had a very beautiful singing voice -- it was easy to forget that, against the power and glory that was Makalaurë’s voice -- but Findekáno did not forget. He stepped over the lounging bodies of his sister and brother, and nearly trod on Carnistir’s foot. He came to where Maitimo was sitting, and put his hands briefly on his cousin’s shoulders. 

Findekáno sang with him and their voices complemented each other well. After a long moment, Tyelkormo and Irissë joined them, as did Ambarussa and Arakáno. 

Together, there was harmony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Elleth, for beta-ing this chapter. You are amazing and squishable!


	5. Chapter 5

There was a certain point in the race when Findekáno’s mind sprang free and all went quiet around him, except the sound of his feet beating against the ground, and his ragged breath. Worries were stripped away and away. Since that night at Fëanáro’s house, much had happened. Fëanáro and his sons had embarked on one of their long journeys, wandering the very edges of Aman, never staying in one place for long. Findekáno missed Maitimo terribly, of course, and resented very much that he should not be allowed to accompany him. Maitimo’s letters, though amusing and informative, were not the same. Turukáno and Elenwë had decided on a long engagement, as was fashionable, that was now just coming to an end.

  
And by-and-by, Melkor had been released.

  
Findekáno stumbled over a small pebble in his path, and looked around him quickly. But, fortunately, the field of runners had thinned considerably since the start of the race.  
The course was brutal -- a meandering route up and down the hill of Túna, through narrow side-streets and alleys -- until it broadened to a wide and spacious field, outside the city. That was where the rest of the athletic competitions had taken place, with the finish line being in front of the stands where the King and Queen of the Noldor sat and observed the race.

  
Findekáno crossed the finish line with plenty of time to spare, though he was not the first, nor the second or third. He had let himself become frightfully out of shape, recently, and grown too complacent. But still, he congratulated the winners cheerfully in turn, and gratefully accepted the cup of water someone gave him.

  
Someone else gave a piece of cloth to wipe his brow with. Looking up, Findekáno saw that it was his grandmother, Indis. She embraced him, and said, “Congratulations, Findekáno!”

  
“Congratulations? Don’t you mean, condolences? I didn’t even place,” Findekáno said, a little plaintively.

  
Indis smiled. “I saw that you did not, but Artanis did. Where you very distracted, my dear?”

  
She led him to a pavilion, where he sat on a cushioned armchair. Findekáno groaned and shook his head. “Not very -- though now I regret, somewhat, supporting mixed racing. I don’t think I would have if I had known Artanis would beat me in every one! Where is she now?”

  
Indis laughed and shook her head. “She is being honored as a winner ought to be, of course.” And indeed, Artanis was still on the finish line, surrounded by a bevy of admirers. She took their adoration as a matter of course and shook her remarkable hair loose from its braid.

  
“At least she has put up that hair of hers,” Findekáno groused.

  
“Come now, Findekáno, it is not like you to be resentful,” Indis said in gently-remonstrating tone. Findekáno nodded, gloomily. He had to start practising again -- both racing and managing not be resentful.

  
“Ah,” Indis said, surveying the crowd, “there are some friends of yours here -- Makalaurë as it happens, how lucky! Makalaurë! Over here!”

  
Makalaurë detached himself from the larger group when he was called; he looked immediately and spotted them. He and Indis embraced warmly before she pulled away -- someone was calling her name. Indis had been Makalaurë’s first music teacher and had gifted him his first harp, there was affection between them that was rare for any of the sons of Fëanáro for the queen.

  
After Indis had left, bidding goodbye to everyone and placing a kiss on Findekáno’s forehead, Makalaurë shook his head sympathetically and said, “Poor old Findekáno, you do look like a squashed tomato.”

  
Findekáno straightened up and looked at his cousin with narrowed eyes, “And you, Makalaurë, have returned to civilization! I suppose everyone has returned as well… and you seem very bright and focused this morning, have you had a breakthrough?”

  
“Oh, we’ve been back for some time now,” Makalaurë said, and at Findekáno’s confused look, he shrugged. “Atar thought it best not to announce it to all.”

  
“Not even to your friends? Maitimo has not written to me about it,” Findekáno said, staring at his dust-streaked shoes. Makalaurë sighed and tapped Findekáno’s shoulder.  
“Aren’t you going to ask me about my new song?”

  
“Tell me about your new song, Makalaurë.” 

  
“It’s not finished,” Makalaurë said, rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully. “Though now, thankfully, it’s not as loud in my head as it used to be. The tune isn’t quite right yet…”  
He looked prepared to tell Findekáno all about it when the sound of voices raised in anger came to them both. Exchanging a swift glance, they went out to see what the trouble was.

  
“I suppose it’s Carnistir and Angamaitë fighting again,” Makalaurë sighed, but it was not. It was two young noblemen that they both knew, one a son of follower of Fëanáro and the other a follower of Nolofinwë. The fight was over, the two participants pulled away from each other, and, when questioned, did not have much to say about it other than to give each other sullen glances.

  
And though the two were sent off in separate directions, Findekáno was troubled. He could not remember a time when there had been harmony between his father and Fëanáro, and suspected that such a time had never existed. But still it was one thing to be used navigating a rather fraught landscape of family divisions, and another to see such division crop up, strange and unwelcome, in the outside world.

  
“Hot-headed idiots,” Makalaurë said finally, occupied by his own thoughts. Then he turned to Findekáno and said, “Get washed up and come with me. I’ve got a song to show you.”

  
Makalaurë’s song, as it turned out, could only be truly appreciated inside a tavern. The tavern itself was one that Findekáno had never been to, in the Smith’s Quarter, though of course not all of the patrons were smiths. There was a pair in the corner who were arguing loudly over the best techniques for Aulëization. The air was smoky -- whether from the pipes some smoked, or rather just a whiff of it that many brought in with their clothes and their hair -- it was difficult to tell.

  
Makalaurë cleared his throat and announced to the tavern at large that he would be premiering his new song tonight. But first he needed a drink! Several of them, in fact. So he sat by Findekáno and they downed as many drinks as the barkeep would give them.

  
It was clear that everyone here admired Fëanáro, and the feeling was mutual, judging from a letter pinned to the wall behind the bar. It was written in his distinctive hand, praising the beer and meat-pies. There was, as well, the seven-pointed star affixed over the bar. But Makalaurë had assured Findekáno that -- no one would bother him -- indeed, no one would know who he was. And it was true that Findekáno was dressed rather plainly, in dark-blue robes, and had not had the chance to put in the customary gold threads back into his hair. In all else, he looked like an ordinary Noldorin elf, which indeed, he was.

  
Finally, it was time for Makalaurë to sing. He sprang up from his seat, swaying a little, and cleared his throat. His voice was shaky at first, and little cracked, but soon he got in the groove of things. He sang a pub-song, a new song, but one that was familiar enough that people could sing along to after the second refrain. It went like this -- a smith had a sweetheart whose eyes were brighter than any jewel, whose voice was sweeter than an anvil’s ring. They were very happy until the smith's forge proved more tempting than his sweetheart, and she left him in grief. And now all the smith could go was weep and drink this tavern’s beer!

Alas! But at least beer was excellent!

  
It was not the most complicated of songs, but Makalaurë sang it well, and with so much feeling that there were some men with hard, craggy faces blackened by the forge who were now weeping openly.

  
After several encores, Makalaurë was finally able to sit down at their table. He ordered another drink and drained it dry before finally saying to Findekáno in a low voice, “How did you like it?”

Findekáno was impressed. He said, “Did you just make it up on the spot? It seemed a bit -- improvised.”

  
Makalaurë nodded. “I like to keep people on their toes. Now, Findekáno, tell me true, what are your intentions for my brother?”

  
Findekáno nearly spat out his drink. “What? Which brother? … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finished quickly with a cough. Makalaurë smirked and shook his head.  
“All I ask is that you hold on to him,” Makalaurë said, sobering up. “Nelyo takes things very much to heart. Perhaps…” He hesitated and looked uncertain.

  
“I think you should drink more, Káno, and then perhaps you’ll make more sense,” Findekáno said firmly, pushing a filled mug of beer into Makalaurë’s waiting hands.  
“Certainly, Káno, but I doubt you will.”

  
Hours later, they were both very drunk and had done little talking beyond that. The tavern had closed and they had been escorted out by a rather apologetic barman. Someone, he explained, would come and fetch them, but Makalaurë rebelled at that, and Findekáno supported him in this. They broke free from the barman’s lax oversight and went running through the streets. Sometimes, they stumbled and fell, and once Findekáno came dangerously close to falling down a long flight of crystal stairs, due to unseen puddles.

It was Makalaurë’s idea that they should sing. There was nothing so beautiful as two drunken elves of good family and excellent musical education, warbling their favorite drinking songs in the dead of night. Someone opened their shutters and shouted imprecations at them. Someone else threw a shoe, which only narrowly missed Makalaurë’s head, and hit Findekáno squarely in the chest.

  
“Ah, I’m hit! Go on without me,” Findekáno said, grabbing Makalaurë’s hand tightly.

  
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Makalaurë said, dragging him along. It seemed to them that they had had come a very long way. Telperion was was its zenith, most people were in bed. They came upon a bench in an quiet terence and alighted there with twin cries of relief.

  
Makalaurë began to take off his boots. At Findekáno’s sidelong glance, he shrugged. “What? My feet hurt. Finno, do you know this place at all?”

  
Findekáno looked around closely. Far ahead the Mindon Eldaliéva rose like a slim white needle against the silvery night sky. A eastward breeze blew through the Calacirya, bringing with it the smell of the sea. It was a beautiful night, almost too beautiful. He sighed. He had no idea where exactly he was, though he could probably navigate his way back home, using the Mindon as compass point.

  
He said all of this aloud -- Makalaurë did not hear him, or at least paid him no mind. He was too busy listening, his head tilted to the side.

  
“Er, Makalaurë? Are you with me still?” Findekáno said, waving a hand over Makalaurë’s eyes. Makalaurë blinked and then scowled at him.

  
“I think I over-do it, sometimes,” Makalaurë sighed, looking out to the stars, which were visible, but just barely, over the haze of silvery light.

  
“What? The absent-minded genius thing?”

  
“Mm. When I was younger, it was easier to plead off looking after Tyelko and Moryo because I needed to go to my lessons, I needed to write my songs. Now, no one bothers me, and I suppose poor Nelyo has borne the brunt of it. It’s partially my fault -- I shirked my duties.”

  
“Perhaps I’m not the right person to tell this to? Or at least -- not here?” Findekáno bumped against him, but Makalaurë pushed back half-heartedly.

  
But then Makalaurë grabbed his hand, suddenly intense. “But that’s what I mean. Nelyo never had a chance to lose his head over someone and act a fool when he was younger --he was far too busy looking after us. And now -- if he does -- well, it will be too much, I think.”

  
At Findekáno’s skeptical look, Makalaurë went on, “Sometimes he thinks he knows best and really, he doesn’t -- and I suppose you are the only one brave enough -- and foolish enough -- to disagree with him. I think that is the reason you ought to be with him.”

  
“Have I your blessing, then? I’ll take it, though your relationship advice is rubbish,” Findekáno said, getting up.

  
“Then I suppose I’m back to threatening to break your legs if you hurt him, but you know how much clichés pain me,” Makalaurë said, following him down the stairs and onto a street that could lead them home.

  
+

  
Breakfast the next morning was an agonizing trial. For one, everyone was there, from Nolofinwë and Anairë, to Turukáno and Irissë and even Arakáno, grimly gnawing on a piece of bread. Findekáno came in and took his usual place near the head of the table. He ate what was set before him morosely, without tasting a bite.

  
“Had a rough night, dear Findekáno?” Irissë asked, not bothering to hide her mischievous smile.

  
“Not at all, darling Irissë, I am as fresh as a daisy,” Findekáno rejoined, slicing open a fried egg so the yolk bled across his plate.

  
“A daisy that been trampled multiple times, perhaps,” she said. “And then chewed over and spat out.”

  
“Children, please,” Nolofinwë said, and they fell silent.

  
“Of course, you should not keep such late hours, Findekáno,” Anairë said, with more than a hint of reproach in her voice. “Nor is anyone in the mood to appreciate such loud singing at such an early hour. There were complaints.”

  
“You sounded like a pair of cats,” Irissë said, nodding. Arakáno followed the conversation silently, his eyes wide.

  
“I think Makalaurë did very well, considering,” Turukáno said, with a sudden smile. “It was only Findekáno who was a little pitchy.” 

  
In view of his family’s great amusement, and because he really did love them very much, Findekáno said nothing further, except that he would work on his singing. After breakfast, he went to his office, causing a great deal of confusion among the staff. After the fuss had died down and Mercas’ ruffled feathers had been soothed, Findekáno settled into a day of answering his correspondence and shuffling papers from one box to another.

  
Most of the letters were not addressed to him -- that was to say, they were addressed to him, but only so far as they wished him to act as an immediate between the writer and the person they really wished to speak with.

  
That was perhaps overly-cynical.

  
His father, after all, was a great believer in the power of bureaucracy. But that was, Findekáno suspected, due to the fact that Nolofinwë knew well how to make the system work to his advantage.

  
From his own view, it seemed like a pointless task. Findekáno sighed, resting his head lightly against the blotting paper of his stationary. He listened for the rattle of the tea-cart and Mercas’ light muttering under his breath, Findekáno looked up expectantly -- hopefully -- to see him, when in fact, it was Maitimo who brought in the tea-cart, fulfilling an obscure fantasy that Findekáno was not even sure he had had until now.

  
“You,” Maitimo said, bringing the tea-cart to a stop in front of Findekáno’s desk, “are a bad influence.”

  
“Hardly that,” Findekáno said, smiling so hard he thought his face would break. “Makalaurë is older than me, and presumably wiser. Shouldn’t he get the blame for corrupting me?”

  
“If I was a big enough fool to believe it,” Maitimo said, pouring himself a cup of tea, before handing another to Findekáno. It was exactly how he liked it -- not too sweet and with a bit of lemon.

  
“I don’t suppose you came here just for me to stare at you adoringly all day,” Findekáno said when the tea was finished and a miffed Mercas had taken it away and closed the door behind him.

  
Despite his words, Findekáno was quite able to tear his eyes away from Maitimo.

  
Maitimo smiled and reached across the desk for Findekáno’s hand. Maitimo’s hand, like everything else about him, was perfect, the fingers long and tapering, tanned slightly, and strong too, though not roughened and cracked, like a smith’s hands would be. Maitimo had learned early that he was not for forgecraft, and though Findekáno knew that was a painful discovery for his lover, he was selfishly glad that fire and metal had not marred the perfection of Maitimo’s hands.

  
Though there was a spot of ink on his thumb… Findekáno frowned. “What have you come to me about? You aren’t leaving again for some remote spot east of the Pelóri, are you? Or some encampment on the shores of the Outer Sea? If you are, I will come with you, whether you will or no.”

  
“The next time,” Maitimo promised. “But in fact, I am here for something else entirely. My father is going to unveil something tonight, and I thought I should invite you to see it.” His voice was deliberately casual, but Findekáno sensed something was wrong.

  
“That is an honor, but only for me? Am I right to say that my father is not invited?”

  
“He will see it soon enough -- Atar will debut it at the next great feast on calendar, no doubt. Tonight, it will only be the eight of us -- nine, if Amil comes, and you and Haru, of course. If, that is, you choose to come?” Maitimo looked at him, his expression more guarded than he usually was, around Findekáno.

  
It seemed to Findekáno that it was somehow important to Maitimo that he should accept, and so he swallowed up any lingering feelings of disloyalty and took Maitimo’s hand and kissed it. Maitimo flushed but did not take his hand away.

  
“I will come if it is important to you,” Findekáno said, relinquishing his lover’s hand at last.

  
“It is,” Maitimo said, getting up. “Come before the mingling. Haru will ride with you.”

  
“Does this have to do with --?” Findekáno closed his mouth again and looked at Maitimo. It had not been long since Melkor had been released from his chains, and though it was said by the Valar and some of the Noldor alike that he had truly repented of his misdeeds, though that was indeed difficult to accept. Melkor himself was often seen in Tirion, and his fána resembled no one as much as Fëanáro himself.

  
(Melkor was no longer a great believer of in originality, it must be said.)

  
No one, as far as Findekáno knew, would admit to using the knowledge that Melkor so freely and loudly offered. But it was difficult to deny that certain technologies had sprung up quickly after Melkor’s unchaining, including things from Fëanáro’s own workshop…

  
“No,” Maitimo said firmly. “They are something that my father has put everything of himself into -- all his skill, all his lore, and even a part of his fëa, or so he says. They needed to be seen to believed.”

  
At Findekáno’s doubtful look, he smiled and got up.

  
“I will see you tonight,” he said, and left.

  
Findekáno was troubled for the rest of the day. It seemed to him that the sky had taken on a darker aspect, and the crowd of people going about their business outside were oblivious of the coming trouble. But in truth, it was only he who had been oblivious. He had attended the ceremony that released Melkor, of course, but he had not much to do with the fallen Vala in the least. Findekáno had no great skill at crafts that should tempt Melkor to his side.

  
With a sigh, he went back to his desk and began to write a letter. He finished it, and started on another one. Eventually, he looked to the window and saw to his surprise that it was almost time for the second mingling. There was a knock at the door and it was Finwë.

  
He strode in and closed the door to the uproar in the office. It was not everyday thing the king visited here, of course. “Hello, Findekáno,” Finwë said cheerfully, strolling opening the door. “I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit. Is this what your father means by keeping you busy?”

  
“Oh yes, hello, Haru,” Findekáno said, springing up, leaving his desk in disarray. He gathered his things quickly, hoping that his grandfather would not linger. “I’m afraid I will never be good at this sort of thing, not like Atar is. I haven’t the patience for it.”

  
He threw one last look at his office, and turned to join his grandfather out in the hall.

  
“Patience is something that needs be learned, Findekáno,” Finwë said, “and you will find it useful before you are very much older. That’s a lesson I have not fully taught all of my children.” He heaved a great sigh, and they went down the stairs to the waiting carriage.

  
“I hope you do not mind the carriage -- perhaps I am getting decrepit in my old age, but I find that I prefer it to riding in the open air,” Finwë continued on. “And there are some more formal clothes for you to change into, if you should wish to do so.”

  
The more formal clothes were the ones that Indis had gifted to him on his last begetting day. They fit well enough, though Findekáno was not terribly fond of the color or the texture, which was a sea-blue silk. But once he had put it on and set his hair to right, he felt better about the whole thing.

  
Findekáno and his grandfather exchanged pleasantries as the carriage glided over the hillside, on its way to Fëanáro’s house. Of course, Finwë’s favorite conversational topic was Fëanáro himself. He spoke of his son with a kind of concentrated fondness that made Findekáno wonder. Was _he_ like that when he talked about Maitimo?

  
No, that was impossible.

  
(But still he made a note to vary his own future conversational topics as much as possible.)

 

+ 

  
Dinner was quiet family affair -- though neither Fëanáro nor Curufinwë were present, and Nerdanel had declined the invitation. Fëanáro’s servant situation, always in a state of flux, had by now completely broken down. As it was, they were served by Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, who then sat down to eat with them. Findekáno was seated across from Makalaurë and next to Tyelkormo and Carnistir. Finwë, as the guest of honor, sat at the head of the table, while Maitimo sat on the other end.

  
Tyelkormo was content to pour a constant stream of talk into Findekáno’s ear. Carnistir sat in an attitude of irritable silence. He stabbed at his salad like it had mortally offended him, and when he caught Findekáno giving him a side-long glance, he snarled, practically. “I don’t know why you’re here. Atar said tonight was _only_ for family. Curufinwe didn’t even ask his wife to come.”

  
“To be fair, it is possible that Curufinwë only forgot to tell her. She is very forgettable,” Tyelkormo said with a yawn.

  
“That does not seem like a very kind thing to say, especially when the lady is not present to defend herself,” Findekáno said stiffly and looked down the table to where Maitimo sat, slightly slumped in his chair. He straightened immediately, as if he felt Findekáno’s eyes on him. They exchanged a glance and Maitimo lifted his shoulder an fraction of an inch.

  
“It’s true though,” Tyelkormo said, and subsided quickly when hit with a withering glare from Maitimo.

  
After dinner was over, the party was ushered, vaguely, into the library. The second mingling of the Trees flooded the room with soft light, nearly dazzling. Maitimo called for the curtains to be drawn and so they were, until they were all sunk into the darkness.

  
Makalaurë settled into a chair and began to play quietly on a harp he seemingly had produced from nowhere. Findekáno stood away from his cousins, and from his grandfather. He wished almost to go -- the suddenly solemn atmosphere did not please him, nor did the silence that fell upon them. All, it seemed, waited for Fëanáro’s arrival.

  
Maitimo slid next to him with a sigh. “What you must think of us!”

  
Findekáno quirked an eyebrow at him. “As if you cared!”

  
“I do care,” Maitimo said, and reflexively, he bunched his right hand into a fist. “Perhaps too much.”

  
“Poor Maitimo! I am sorry.” Then Findekáno said conspiratorially, “I will help you stay aloof.”

  
Maitimo gave him a wry grin. “Your jokes have always been quite terrible, Finno.”

  
“Hush now, Atar is coming,” Makalaurë said sharply, and silence descended upon them all, heavy with anticipation, and with an edge of -- was it fear?

  
The library door opened to a flood of light, so bright that Findekáno put a startled hand up and saw the light shine through it as if it was bone-china. It took a few moments to adjust to it and see the three jewels that sat on Fëanáro’s brow. Fëanáro, who always burned bright, could hardly be looked at now. He was dressed simply and wore no other jewels except the three -- like diamonds they were, but more, and better, giving off light, not just reflecting it.

  
Findekáno took several steps toward Fëanáro -- he could not help himself, he had to, he needed to see more. Curufinwë, who followed in his father’s wake, warded him off. “Do not approach!” he hissed, and even Maitimo pulled him back, shaking his head. But it was not only Findekáno who drew forward, towards Fëanáro and his remarkable jewels. Makalaurë’s harp lay on the floor, where he had let it fall. All was silent, it seemed as if no one hardly dared to breathe.

  
t Fëanáro ignored them all and went straight to where Finwë and presented them to his father, like a child who knew that he had done well. “They are the work of my lifetime, I shall never surpass them,” he said quietly and a sigh went through the room. Fëanáro spoke true.

  
Oh, Findekáno thought dreamily, I would be content just to look at these jewels for the rest of my life. The light was familiar and yet strange, constantly shifting and changing. Perfect light. Someone -- Tyelkormo -- stepped in front of him, blocked the light -- it was almost as if Findekáno had gone blind. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, almost stumbling to the door. No one marked his departure, all were held enthralled by the jewels and Fëanáro.

  
As soon as Findekáno closed the library door behind him, he returned to himself. He blinked again and shook his head. He could see double of everything -- it made his descent down the stairway a little difficult -- he had no desire to slide down it today -- but once he got to the bottom, he felt more like himself. He walked out into the night and breathed in deeply.

  
Everything was as it had been before and yet… And yet, things had changed. Anxious to clear his thoughts, Findekáno headed quickly to the stables. No one would notice that he was gone, he was sure. They were probably still occupied with the jewels.

  
But just when he thought he was going to make a quick escape, a familiar step at the door of the stables proved him wrong.

  
“Were they not remarkable?” Maitimo said, the strange hungry look still upon his face.

  
Findekáno gave an unsteady laugh. “I suppose your father has been working on them since that flap over Artanis’ hair.”

  
“It has been long coming,” Maitimo agreed, coming towards him. He paused for a moment. “Are you stealing my horse?”

  
Findekáno put down the bridle that he had been holding. “Ah. No?”

  
“You needn’t -- I will ride back with you,” Maitimo said, nodding to himself. “Haru wished to stay here tonight, but I suppose everyone will be expecting you.”

  
“Probably so. But I must ask, Maitimo -- why did you want me to come tonight?” Findekáno made a helpless gesture with his hands. “I wasn’t much use to you.”

  
“No, I think you were of great use. If it had been only us, I think, I would have doubted the reactions that the jewels drew. But you felt them too, didn’t you? They drew you to them?”

  
“I did not like them.”

  
“Hm. They will soon be hallowed by the Valar. Then no evil could touch them, nor is there evil in them.”

  
“Perhaps it is only a stupid feeling…”

  
“Yes?”

  
“What you said about the draw they have, it’s true. I felt it too, but --” Unaccountably, in the warm summer evening, Findekáno felt as though a sense of chill crept down his back.

  
“You are too noble to bend to it,” Maitimo said with a smile that could have meant anything.

  
“Maitimo, I mean to be serious.”

  
“I am too,” Maitimo said, brushing a little braid past Findekáno’s ear and kissed him, his hand still on his face.

  
Findekáno thought, perhaps in a hundred years or two, he would grow used to kissing Maitimo so much that he would accept it with both equanimity and pleasure. It would not be like this feeling of plunging fast and deep and then being pulled back again, to the feeling of Maitimo’s face, his hands on his face, and Findekáno closed his hand over Maitimo’s and closed his eyes for a moment. _Remember this._

  
He opened his eyes again to see Maitimo smiling at him. 

"Are you sure you must go?" Maitimo asked him softly.

Findekáno swallowed hard. “I think, perhaps, they will not miss me so very much…”

  
Maitimo waited for a moment before he said, “The gatehouse is free tonight, and if you stayed there, everyone will think you have already gone.”

  
Findekáno nodded solemnly and followed Maitimo out.

  
+

  
A warm tongue licked Findekáno’s face, and he pushed away the warm, furry muzzle with a groan. Huan whined and pawed at him. Findekáno sighed and said, “Oh Huan, what are you doing?”

  
Huan was not yet fully-grown -- his ears and paws gave promise of his future stature. But still, he was beautiful, was Huan in his youth, his fur was shaggy and grey, with parts of black and bronze, and his eyes were dark and warm. He licked Findekáno’s face again, as sort of apology for waking him.

  
Findekáno sat up and gave Huan a one-armed hug and sighed. He missed it, the feeling the living warmth of a dog beside him. He had had to give poor Linnen up when his former owners had appeared again, somewhat sheepishly. They had come after reading the notices that Findekáno had put in the paper, at his father’s suggestion. He hadn’t had a dog since then.

  
Findekáno looked around.

  
He had fallen asleep on the bed. Laurelin’s light filtered through the curtains, it was still early enough that she had not yet reached her full strength. Findekáno’s clothes were strewed around the room and Maitimo was nowhere to be seen. He sighed ruefully.

  
The night before still burned brightly in his memory. They hadn’t thought to bring a lamp with them from the stables (at least Findekáno hadn’t, but he suspected Maitimo liked the clandestine nature of the proceedings.) They had climbed the stairs and and had got to the guest room upstairs and could wait no more.

  
The bed squeaked terribly, embarrassingly, and Findekáno blushed and Maitimo’s indulgent smile became wicked. They exchanged a kiss and then another… They had not, in the end, done very much, only kissed and touched, and then Findekáno had fallen asleep, his last memory being of Maitimo taking off his boots.

  
Huan barked, interrupting Findekáno’s reminiscences. Findekáno sighed and began to stroke Huan’s glossy, grey coat. “Now what are you doing here, boy?” Huan cocked his head and looked at him as if he wanted to pose the same question to Findekáno.

  
“He must have come in when I went out,” Maitimo said, coming in, carrying a basket with him. He and Findekáno exchanged almost shy glances, before Maitimo turned to business of setting the writing desk with breakfast. Findekáno dressed quickly and went downstairs to find the bathroom. When he came back, Huan had gone and Maitimo was waiting for him.

  
Breakfast turned out to be hot, crusty bread that steamed when Maitimo broke it open, and pats of butter to smear on the inside. Along with the bread, there were peaches, blushing pink and golden, and when Findekáno bit into it, his mouth filled up with fragrant sweetness. The tea was black and slightly bitter -- but then it was sweetened, somewhat, with liberal applications of honey.

  
The honey still lingered on Findekáno when he said, “The word will be out already, about your father’s jewels. And my own father will want to know about them.”

  
Maitimo, who was reclining on the armchair, sat up and frowned. “What will you tell him?”

  
Findekáno laughed and got up. “What else could I tell him but the truth? I was too hasty yesterday. Fëanáro has truly outdone himself.”

  
Maitimo got up too and murmured, “I hope you do not tell your father _everything_ you did yesterday.”

  
Findekáno went out the door and shook his head, “No, not everything. Though it does feel -- I do feel that I’m abusing their trust, a little.”

  
“Do you want to make a clean breast of it to your parents?”

  
“And never be alone with you again? No, never,” Findekáno replied fiercely. The very thought made his steps falter so that he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Maitimo, who was coming behind him, stopped as well and put his hands on Findekáno’s shoulders.

  
“It’s all right,” Maitimo said, though of course it was not, and they both knew it.

  
Findekáno craned his neck around and smiled. “Come now, Maitimo, don’t make me feel shorter than I already am. Stop looming, will you?” He stepped onto the ground floor with a thump and turned around to look at Maitimo expectantly.

  
“Oh, am I looming? I’m sorry but I can’t always be aware of how people feel down there,” Maitimo said with a sincere frown. Findekáno bit his lip to keep from laughing around and lifted his face up, expecting to be kissed.

  
Maitimo did kiss him, but sadly, that was also the time Huan made his return, bounding through the open door, and attempting to weave between their legs. But Huan was no longer the small puppy who was able to do such things, and Findekáno and Maitimo fell against each other, until they were all on the floor together, a tangle of two Elves and dog.

  
“Oh, Huan,” Maitimo sighed, over Findekáno’s howls of laughter. Huan made his apologies by licking their faces, over their protests.


	6. Chapter 6

It was an unexpected sight: Nindë, who had grown from a small child to a lanky adolescent in the space of a few, short years -- for surely it hadn’t been _that_ long since Findekáno had seen her? -- and Nolofinwë, his father, still dressed in his rich court-robes. They were deep in discussion in the courtyard when Findekáno entered, and Nindë, at least, slid off the marble top of the balustrade, and made an awkward sort of bow. 

“Please, none of that,” Findekáno said, embarrassed for himself. He touched the back of his head and felt the sleek rows of braids, threaded with gold. He regretted having chosen today to give his hairdresser leave to go wild. 

Nindë grinned and stuck her hands back into her pocket. She was wearing what must have been her work clothes, a shirt and a leather hose, with an apron tied around her waist. Everything she wore was patched and stained and looked as if they had seen long use. Her hair was tied back into a single braid, which would have looked severe on her, except for her broad grin. 

“I hope the fountain has not dried up again?” Findekáno glanced beyond Nindë to his father, who gave him a benign look. On Nolofinwë, however, such an expression could mean anything. 

“No, no, it has not dried up. It flows as well as it ever has,” Nindë said, “it is only…” Suddenly, she looked uneasy. Nolofinwë took up the conversation smoothly. “After you brought up the matter of the fountain at council, it and the Weaver’s Quarter became a matter of interest to me. The quality and richness of what they produce is high, and yet those who labor over it are very poorly compensated.” 

“Yes,” Findekáno said slowly, “I know.” 

“Findekáno, why do you look so worried? I swear, you looked the same when you were a boy of thirty and had smashed your grandmother’s favorite rose-vase, and hide the shards at the bottom of the garden.” 

Nolofinwë nodded towards Nindë, “He made a full confession of his crimes -- with tears and all -- before the shards could be discovered.” 

Nindë chuckled. “Somehow I am not surprised.” 

“Now that we have dredged up that painful memory from my past, may I ask what --?”

“There are tensions boiling under the surface in the Weaver’s Quarter, as there are all over the city. I trust you have not remained ignorant of the cause?” 

“I think I would have to be both blind and deaf to miss the cause, Atar,” Findekáno somewhat stiffly. The growing tensions between Nolofinwë and Fëanáro infected everything -- including Findekáno’s relationship with his father. He knew that Nolofinwë disapproved of him spending so much time with Maitimo, and disliked more than usual, Findekáno having accompanied his eldest cousin and his family to an excursion to the far-west, to the very shores of the Outer Sea. 

They had only come back recently. It had been a strange trip, and stranger was Findekáno’s reception back home. More and more, he felt as though his friendship with Maitimo was seen as a type of disloyalty to his House. The thought made him more than a little furious, and he had trouble containing himself. Why should he not be able to be a good friend to Maitimo as well as good son to Nolofinwë -- why wouldn’t they let him be?

“But what does Nindë have to do with this?” 

It was then Laston, Nolofinwë’s manservant, came in to the courtyard and gave a delicate cough. He looked pointedly at his master and said, “My lord, your meeting started five minutes…” 

Nolofinwë got up with a sigh. “Ah, and now I am very late. I only hope the lords can find it in their hearts to forgive me. Findekáno, make sure Mistress Nindë is looked after --” And with that he bowed and left. 

Once they were alone, Findekáno to turned to Nindë and said, “Nindë! Then you are my father’s spy?” 

“Hardly a spy!” Nindë scoffed. “I don’t hide my support for your House, and besides, with my father gone and Herenë expecting twins --” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. And congratulations.” 

“Yes. We need all the help we can get. And if I pass along some information that everyone who isn’t some lord would know, then where’s the harm?” 

“How much does he pay you?” 

“Pardon me, Prince Findekáno; you were kind to me once, but I do not think you have the right to ask me that.” 

“No, you are right. I apologize,” Findekáno said, and began to pace. “But how does your family feel about this? Your father, I know, supports Fëanáro.” 

Nindë nodded gravely. “He does, and so does Herenë’s husband, but… My father is gone now -- that is to say, my parents are estranged, and he has moved out of the house. And I don’t talk politics with Herenë’s husband -- he’s a good man otherwise.” 

And Nindë would say no more about her family. 

Findekáno said, after a while, “I cannot imagine you are the only one who is so employed. There must be others, in other quarters. And of course, anything my father does, my half-uncle must do it twice-over, and so the city is probably crawling with people reporting back on each other. Eru, what a mess! What would Maitimo say?” 

“I’ve never seen your Nelyafinwë Maitimo, did you know? I’ve seen that brother of his -- that dark, red faced one. He once threw a bucket of water out the window and it spilled all over some festival-goers down below. I saw it with my own eyes. Always thought that was a bit rude, myself.”

“He isn’t _my_ Nelyafinwë Maitimo. And yes, that sounds like Carnistir. He has thrown things at me many a time. The festival-goers should have been thankful it wasn’t anything pointy -- he has a very good aim.”

“He ruined their good clothes, anyhow. But I suppose good clothes doesn’t mean much for a prince. All of your clothes are good ones... And wasn’t your friend named that way as a direct insult to your father? I mean, the Third Finwë, it’s not very subtle…” 

“You are very politically aware for a weaver’s apprentice,” Findekáno said, stopping and staring at her. 

“I am not a weaver’s apprentice,” Nindë said with dignity, “I am a dyer’s apprentice. See?” She held out her hands, and yes, her hands and good portion of her arms were colored faintly blue. The color had also leached into the lines of her palms.  
“Do you like it?” Findekáno asked, curious despite himself. 

Nindë rolled down her sleeves with a scornful laugh. “Who likes work? The chemicals make my lungs ache, and I’ve seen people turn blue -- really, honestly _blue_ , after a while! And there are stories of apprentices falling into huge boiling vats of dye and their fëar not being release from Mandos because they died so stupidly… though that might just have been a tale my mistress told me.” 

“What would you like to do instead?” 

Nindë considered it. “That,” she said, turning and pointing behind her. 

“Gardening?” Findekáno said blankly, looking at the rose bush that dominated the back wall of the courtyard. 

“No, you royal dunce. That sculpture, there,” Nindë said. And there so there was, an utterly forgettable one, almost swallowed by the heavy red roses of the bush, of a bored-looking maiden with a fish’s tail. At Findekáno’s dubious look, Nindë said, a little defensively, “I could do better than that, of course.” 

“Well, yes. Hmm. Why didn’t you apply to be a sculptor’s apprentice?” 

Nindë snorted. “I wasn’t born in the Mason’s Quarter! Who’s going to take a chance on me?” 

Findekáno snapped his fingers. “Then I know exactly who to introduce you to.” 

 

\+ 

 

On their way to Nerdanel’s workshop, Findekáno paused for a moment. He wasn’t lost -- he had been this way a hundred times before -- but felt as though he needed get something straight with Nindë. “We are friends, are we not, Nindë?” 

She said, “I should think so. Otherwise I would be languishing in some terrible dungeon somewhere. I don’t really think you are a dunce.” 

“We don’t really have dungeons per se, though there are some rooms people are put in if they make trouble -- refuse to pay their bar tab, get into fights, things like that. All I can say about the rooms themselves is that they are furnished rather sparsely and not always in the best taste.” 

Nindë said, after a while, “That is the thing. I can’t always tell if you are joking or not.” 

“Most people have trouble with that aspect of my character, you shouldn’t trouble yourself about it -- ah! We are getting close. Have you been in this part of the city before?”

They had climbed numerous stairs before coming to a new level of the city. It was a well-designed and pleasant neighborhood, the artists and craftsmen who made their home here were the best in their respective field. They left the marks of their craft here more than anywhere else in the city -- from the windows, signs, even to the cobblestones.

Nerdanel’s workshop was more of a show-room than anything else -- her work required more space than Tirion could give -- but Findekáno knew that she had spent some days here, and expected that she was here still. There were many people going in and out of the workshop -- Findekáno was about to join them when he felt a tug on his arm. It was Nindë, who looked a bit pale.

“You didn’t tell me that you were taking me to _Nerdanel_ ,” she hissed. 

“What’s wrong with Nerdanel? Are you nervous? I can’t imagine why someone who is completely at home with joking with my father should be nervous about Nerdanel. She’s very kind.” 

Findekáno maneuvered them to a little corner where they would not be trampled by anyone.  
“There’s nothing wrong with her! It’s just that --” Nindë bit her lip. “I’m not good enough to see her. It would be like showing your grocery list to Rúmil.” 

“I don’t know, perhaps he’d be flattered to know someone kept to the old way of writing.” 

“Oh you are…”

“Nindë, listen. We are, both of us, part of a remarkable people. I believe we can learn anything that we put our minds to -- and learn it well, if we have good teachers. Now, the question is, do you want to learn?” 

Nindë nodded. “I do.”

“Good. Come on then.” 

They went into the workshop. It had a cluttered feel to it, with sculptures and various statues taking up most of the space. At former times, there had been as much work by Fëanáro there as there was by Nerdanel, but since the couple’s last estrangement, everything of Fëanáro's had all but disappeared. 

“Where is Mistress Nerdanel?” Findekáno asked one of the apprentices who had come in, dragging a bag of clay with her. 

“She’s gone to deliver a project -- she should be back shortly. One of her sons is here, if you need to speak to him, Prince Findekáno.” 

“Oh?” Findekáno said, trying to sound disinterested, ignoring the foolish surge of hope those words brought to him. His chances were low, after all -- only one in six. He tried to hide it by blustering. “I do hope it is Ambarto, for I commissioned a project from him not long ago, and hope it is finished.”

The apprentice smiled easily. “That’s the one.” 

“Findekáno!” It was Ambarto, who came rushing in. He held aloft a sleek wooden box. “I was just going to go deliver this to you. Thank you for saving me the trip! Oh -- hello, I didn’t see you there.” He nodded to Nindë, who was inching behind Findekáno all during this conversation. 

“Hello,” she said, her voice muffled by Findekáno’s body. 

Findekáno stepped aside and took the box from Ambarto. “Thank you! This is my friend, Nindë. She’s interested in apprenticing with your mother.” 

Ambarto hesitated, looking suddenly unsure. “I do not know if Amil is still taking apprentices -- they are hard work, you know!” And catching the look of disappointment on Nindë’s face, he hastily amended, “Of course, there are always exceptions. If Amil likes you, for example, or you happen to be outrageously talented…” 

“Yes,” Findekáno said with a cough, “well, we’ll see. And about this!” He held up the box. “Is there more that I owe you? For additional materials and such?”

Ambarto shook his head. “Really you should have asked Atar to make them for you. Or even Curufinwë would have done in a pinch. I am still a beginner myself when it comes to mechanics. But I enjoyed going out into the woods and observing my subjects… ” 

“I am sure you have done excellently -- and anyway, only you were interested in the project to begin with -- and…” He fell silent and watched as Ambarto and Nindë, while still nodding along to his words, had drifted closer to each other, almost without realizing it.

Ambarto was fresh-faced and handsome, his hair brighter and redder than his twin’s. He was amiable, mostly, and not a terrible choice in … Findekáno coughed again. Ambarto looked up and said, distractedly, “Did you say something?” 

“I said, when will your mother be back?” 

“Soon. You might want to look around, Findekáno, in the meantime. There is something here that’s sure to interest you.” A very cheeky smile accompanied this remark and Findekáno stared back at his young cousin rather sternly. That, of course, had no real effect on him, and he began to talk to Nindë animatedly, ignoring his cousin entirely.  
Nindë, after her initial reserve, was more than equal to him. Occasionally, they both laughed and glanced back at Findekáno, and laughed again. 

_Young people_ , Findekáno thought with growing exasperation. He wandered around the workshop, wondering what Ambarto could have been thinking of. But eventually, he found it, and grew embarrassed for the second time that day at his apparent transparency. For it was Maitimo, of course, it always was. 

Maitimo in marble was almost as lovely as he was in flesh. He stood straight, his remarkable height apparent. One of his hands was half-extended, as if in greeting. His expression was one that Findekáno recognized well: serious and intent, but with warmth in his eyes. There were veins of red running through the white marble, red and a darker grey. Other than some drapery across his hips, Maitimo was nude…

Which was only proper, artistically speaking. Findekáno was sure of it -- on impulse, he reached out to touch Maitimo’s extended hand. It was cool and smooth -- and only marble, after all. 

“Is it possible to love someone too much?” Findekáno asked himself quietly, before he was startled out his reverie by a well-known voice. 

“Perhaps -- but I’m not sure,” Nerdanel said. Findekáno turned and took her hand. She smiled crookedly and nodded to the sculpture. “Hello, Findekáno. How do you like it?” 

Findekáno cleared his throat and said, “Ah. I’ve never seen it before. Is it new?” 

Nerdanel began to walk slowly around the sculpture. Findekáno followed her, feeling a bit like a lost puppy. Thoughtfully, she said, “It was finished years ago, but Maitimo didn’t seem to like it. He said there was something off about the ears.” 

“Really? They seem perfectly fine to me,” Findekáno said, stopping to check. The ears were, indeed, perfectly fine.

“I think he was a little embarrassed, though that’s just a guess. Now, Findekáno, about what you said before,” Nerdanel said, stopping abruptly and turning to look at him. 

Nerdanel was shorter than Findekáno, and indeed, she was shorter than most people. But with her powerful frame and fly-away brown hair and sharp, clever face, Nerdanel was never one to be intimidated by anyone. 

Findekáno struggled to keep from apologizing. Instead, he said in a carefully-careless voice, “I suppose you think I am immoral at worst, and at best, terribly misguided.” 

Nerdanel cast her eyes downward and gave a rueful laugh. “Help me move this, will you?” She patted Maitimo’s rump. 

“Where are you putting it?” Findekáno said, confusedly.

“Where Fëanáro’s sculpture was.” 

“Oh, then it is serious,” Findekáno said. For as long as he could remember, Fëanáro’s sculpture had stood glowering down on everyone who came to the workshop from its special alcove. It was the result of the first time that Fëanáro had agreed to model for Nerdanel, the first time they had worked together. He scowled, his perfect mouth curled, his body hunched -- a joke between two young artists, who laughed at stricture that beauty had to always be _pretty_.

No matter how many times Nerdanel and Fëanáro had fought and separated -- only to come back to each other over and over again -- the sculpture had stood there, in mute judgment to all. But no more.

“What will happen to it?” Findekáno had been too distracted to notice when he had come in, but the alcove seemed terribly empty without its usual inhabitant. The sculpture of Maitimo, as handsome as it was, didn’t seem like it would be enough, somehow. He pushed against it, experimentally, but it did not move. 

“That is for Fëanáro to decide. Careful! It is heavy! Ambarto! Come here, we are moving Maitimo. Ask your friend to come too.” 

From across the workshop, Ambarto sighed heavily. He shouted back, “All right, but before we do that, can I get something for all of us to drink?” 

“Very well!” 

Ambarto and Nindë left together slowly, still deep in conversation. 

“Now,” Nerdanel said when they had gone, “why do you think I would condemn you for loving Maitimo?” 

“Well,” Findekáno said warily, “it is not something that is exactly widely accepted. Or even countenanced. The laws and customs say nothing of it.”

“I think,” Nerdanel pensively, “I think that our shared family history should tell you that the laws and customs do not always take into consideration all the sorts of love that are possible.” Quieter than before, she said, “Hold on to him. Try.”

“I will --” 

“Here we are!” Ambarto said, carrying with him a large pitcher of lemonade. Nindë carried with her four cups. Nerdanel sat down on a low stool and took her filled cup with a murmured thanks. Findekáno was also grateful to receive his cup. 

Confessing was thirsty work. 

Meanwhile, Nerdanel was examining Nindë closely. “You are Íverin’s younger daughter, aren’t you?” 

Nindë blushed, surprised. “Uh, yes! I didn’t know you knew -- my mother, Mistress Nerdanel.” 

“Why not? She made my wedding dress. I’m sorry to hear what happened to her -- it’s a wretched thing, for a weaver of her caliber to lose her living like that -- it is something that all craftsmen fear. I suppose you are apprenticed to another weaver? How far along are you?” 

“I am apprenticed to a dyer, ma’am, but --” 

“She wants to do what you do, Aunt. And Nindë is my friend -- Ambarto just met her,” Findekáno said, leaning against Maitimo’s pedestal.

“This was a stupid idea,” Nindë said, looking at her feet, her face a dull red.  
“Do you work with pigments in general, or just dyes?” 

Nindë looked up, a little startled. “My mistress does mostly clothing-dyes, but she also has a sideline in paints and inks that I help prepare.” 

“I do not think I could outright steal your mistress’ apprentice from her. But if you wish -- I could commission some paints to be brought here and you can see if this is the sort of life for you?” 

“Thank you! I would like that so much!” Nindë said, her eyes shining. For the first time in a very long time, she looked as young as she was. 

“Good! Now,” Nerdanel said, springing up from the ground and dusting herself. “Let’s move this thing.” A groan echoed through the workshop, but Nerdanel was unmoved. But, through their combined efforts, Maitimo was not. 

 

+

Elenwë had waited patiently for all the presents to be cleared away -- except for one. She tore open the elaborately wrapped gift and said, “And this is from you, Findekáno?” 

He nodded and Elenwë cleared away the paper and unlatched the box carefully. From it burst forth a cloud of butterflies. They fluttered around the room, here and there. It took a moment to see that they were not living creatures, but small automatons, skimming through the air on wings of malachite, amber, garnet, opal and lapis lazuli. 

One landed delicately on Elenwë’s extended finger and fluttered its dark blue wings. “How lovely!” she breathed, delighted. Turukáno, who sat beside her, gave Findekáno a startled look of gratitude, as a garnet-winged butterfly fluttered by him. 

Elenwë, her eyes still following the butterflies around the room, asked him, “Who made them?” 

“It was Telufinwë -- that is to say, Ambarto. He has a great interest in lepidopterology, you see, and volunteered to make them after I described what I wanted him to do.” 

“But I didn’t know Telufinwë could do something like this,” Turukáno said, “doesn’t Fëanáro prefer the other twin?” 

“Well, Nerdanel is not unpractised in these matters,” Findekáno said, a little testily. Then he shook his head and said, “I believe he might have gotten some suggestions from a Maia of Yavanna.” 

A malachite butterfly settled on the lip of his wine glass, and he bent down and rotated it slowly, for a better look. 

After a collective sigh of appreciation, the whole family soon was up and milling around, gathering up sophisticated bits of food and flutes of bubbly wine. It had only been a small celebration on the run up to the actual wedding celebrations -- only the immediate families of both the bride and the groom were present. 

Arakáno and Irissë were tasked with gathering the butterflies, who had by this time settled on any available surface -- from table-tops and cake-stands, to being tangled in someone’s hair. They still fluttered when approached, and to make them lie still, one had to stroke their dark golden bodies. 

Only one was lost in the confusion, victim to an errant boot, its wings only a smear of turquoise powder on the marble floor. 

By this time, Laurelin was at its zenith and the small morning room where they had this informal gathering had filled with light. Nolofinwë and Anairë walked arm-in-arm with Elenwë’s parents, and Indis was there too, putting the rest of the presents away. Elenwë and Turukáno had only eyes for each other, while the rest had eyes only on the food. 

As he bit into a luscious strawberry tart, Findekáno looked up to see Laurefindil approach him. He made room on the sofa where he sat, and Laurefindil sat down beside him with a sigh. “You have given my sister quite an impressive gift.” 

“Ah,” Findekáno said, putting down the tart crust down. “Are you going to ask me whose idea was it?” 

“Not at all,” Laurefindil said quickly. 

“As a matter of fact, it was mine. Though I perhaps learn that butterflies were Elenwë’s favorite animals from Turukáno. He is completely versed in all of her favorite things, and everything else about her. It is one advantage of having such a long engagement, it removes all doubt about whether you truly belong together. He hardly talks of anything else besides Elenwë and the wedding.” 

Someone set down a flute of wine in front of Laurefindil who picked up and sipped from it. He looked thoughtful as he said, “Love, I suppose, will do that to you.” He paused, and then said, “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Ethelion at all?” 

“Hm?” To Findekáno, it seemed a strange leap. But then again, he had come to realize that most of his conversations with Laurefindil lately seemed to turn on Ethelion. _And love…_

Findekáno said, “No, nothing since we fixed the fountain together. Of course, Ethelion and I are not the closest of friends. But it seems that you two are?” 

“What? No, no, of course not, I am strictly disinterested in Ethelion. That is not to say that I find him boring. Or that I don’t like him. I do. He is a good musician and -- well, it is worthwhile to know such talented people. Or so they say.” 

But then Laurefindil frowned. “Of course, like many artists, he is very vexing, and as you say, difficult to know.” 

“I don’t know that I really said that.” 

“No, no, I suppose you didn’t. My personal feelings intruded. Not that I have personal feelings about Ethelion. I hardly know him.” He finished his drink very quickly after that and got up from his seat. 

Distantly, he bid Findekáno goodbye. 

“Goodbye, Laurefindil…” Findekáno said to Laurefindil’s quickly retreating back. He had the distinct impression that he ought to go and help Laurefindil out of his confusion, except it seemed to him that Laurfindil enjoyed his own confusion immensely. And besides, there was an entire plate of strawberry tarts to finish off, if Arakáno hadn’t already gotten to them… 

Here, Findekáno’s luck ended. He came back to the table to find that Arakáno had, indeed, gotten the better of him -- all of the strawberry tarts were gone. 

 

\+ 

 

It was a week before Turukáno’s wedding, miraculously free of all engagements. Findekáno woke early and dressed, treading lightly down the hall past Arakáno’s room. He took so much care that he nearly ran into a disheveled-looking Irissë. 

Eyes narrowed, she asked, “You aren’t planning to sneak out and only come back on the blessed day, are you?” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Findekáno said, neatly sidestepping and bounding quickly down the hall. “Thank you for the idea!” 

“Don’t you dare!” Irissë spun around and hissed, “Findekáno, I’m serious! Turukáno will have a fit!” 

Findekáno took a few steps toward, not near enough so that she could smack him easily, and said in a faintly patronizing tone, “Dear sister, you’re overwrought -- no one would host me for a solid week! I’m only going for a run.” 

A crafty look stole across Irissë’s beautiful face. “Then let me go with you.” 

“But you look like you’ve just rolled out bed.” 

“I did just roll out of bed -- but I won’t take long to get ready! After all, I take much less time on my hair than you do yours.” Irissë darted back into her room before Findekáno could protest. 

She was true to her word and came out before long with her hair combed and parted, and dressed simply in a white shirt and trousers -- which was exactly what Findekáno was wearing. She held out a comb and a ribbon and gave him an appealing look. With a sigh, Findekáno took her offering and braided her hair into a single plait. 

“Ouch! You always pull too tight,” Irissë said, patting the top of her head as Findekáno finished. 

“Hush! You’ll wake Arakáno,” Findekáno said quietly, and indeed, there was sounds of stirring across the hall. They quickly ran down the stairs and out of the door -- pausing only to raid the fruit bowl for some apples to tuck safely in their pockets -- and were out in the square. Laurelin was slowly gaining strength and in the early morning light, everything from the fountains to the fruit-stands and sleepy guards seemed like gilded treasure. 

They wandered to a square near the house to think of what to do. “Race you,” Irissë said, her eyes shining with excitement. “Whoever loses must give up his jewelry budget to the winner for a year.” 

“Wait, that’s too much to wager,” Findekáno said, alarmed, which earned him a quick side-long glance from his sister. 

“A month, then. As if you don’t have enough! Ah, there goes the modest and humble Findekáno, we can hear him coming from a mile away…” 

Findekáno huffed impatiently and crossed his arms. “Ridiculous! Irissë!” 

But Irissë had already gone ahead, her slim white form disappearing around a corner. But Findekáno could not allow this to stand. He raced to catch up with her, and when he did, the siblings stayed neck-in-neck for as long as the race lasted. 

Neither of them proved above sabotage: Irissë unhooked a gate holding in a barking dog that rushed into Findekáno’s path, Findekáno pushed her into a passing hay cart. In the end, panting and sweaty, in the same place they had started, both claimed to have won the race.

“Never mind,” Findekáno said, collapsing on a wooden bench, startling some pigeons from their rest. “You can take it. May all the stones fall off your rings and all your silver, tarnish.” 

“Ugh, what graceless loser you are,” Irissë said, sprinkling some cold water on his face. Findekáno wrinkled his nose and batted her hand away. She sat down beside him and stretched her legs. They looked very alike, Findekáno and his sister, with the same nose and same straight, black hair. It was a wonder that they were not close -- but perhaps it was their similarities, in personalities rather than looks, that separated them. 

Irissë took out a weathered-looking apple from her pocket and frowned at it. However, when Findekáno fished out his own, equally bruised apple, she took it with a regal thanks. 

“I will be all right with just half of it,” she said, still disposed to be kind, and she bit in to the apple. “Tyelkormo says all jewelry is vulgar, though I don’t see him saying so in his father’s hearing.” 

“Ah, Tyelkormo. He would be happier if we went back to wearing skins, like the poor benighted Avari,” Findekáno said smugly. The position seemed to him to be quite bizarre and possibly contradictory -- that was to say, typical of Tyelkormo. 

“Or nothing at all, like they did at Cuiviénen,” Irissë said with a giggle. This earned her a sharp look from her brother. 

“Well, to Cuiviénen there is no returning,” Findekáno said repressively, ignoring the sharp elbow Irissë aimed at his side. “What’s happening with Tyelkormo and you anyway? Does he mean to marry you?” 

“Marry Tyelkormo!” Irissë exclaimed, so loudly that the people passing paused for a moment to look at her. She glared at them until they moved on, uneasily. In a quieter tone, she said, “I can’t imagine a worse idea. We’d fight constantly and about everything. And he does everything Fëanáro tells him to, without a question. I won’t have a husband of mine looking to his father to tell him when to sneeze and when to fart.” 

“Irissë!” Findekáno said, laughing. 

“I think if he and Aunt Nerdanel had had daughters, Uncle Fëanáro would not have turned out half as odd. Girls aren’t half as biddable as boys, and it would have done him good to be disobeyed once in a while.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Well, girls in our family, at least. When was the last time you saw Aunt Írimë do anything other than what she liked?” 

“I don’t think Maitimo can be described as biddable, somehow…” 

Irissë now looked wise, which was difficult feat as she was still gnawing on her apple-core. “Ah, yes, your hero Maitimo, the one who can do no wrong. Really, Findekáno, at your age, most of us know better than to have such idols. And for all of his supposed nobility and intelligence, I don’t doubt that if Fëanáro asked him to jump, he would only ask how high.” 

“You don’t know him like I do,” Findekáno said a little hotly. “With Maitimo, what you see is what you get.” 

Irissë smiled and shook her head. “That describes you, Findekáno, not Maitimo. Anyway, you should hear the rumors going around about him. Some of them are quite shocking.” 

“Maitimo and I are the same,” Findekáno said, getting up. “And you shouldn’t speak about things you have no understanding of -- or seek out distasteful rumors.” 

Irissë sprang up and said hotly, “I don’t seek them out! If people are talking around, what am I supposed to do? Stop my ears? And you shouldn’t be so superior, there’s nasty things said about you, too.” 

“Well, don’t tell me about them, for Eru’s sake,” Findekáno shouted behind him as he began to run. 

“Not that I was going to! You rotten pig!” Irissë shouted back. 

When Findekáno got back home, a boy was waiting for him with a letter. he snatched it and up from the startled messenger with barely a word of thanks, and was tearing it open as he mounted the steps. The writing was unfamiliar, but envelope and paper was not -- they were from Nerdanel’s personal stationery. The letter was from Nindë, written with a careful hand. It informed him that she had been released from her old apprenticeship with very little trouble -- on her part, anyway.

She further reminded him not to utterly forget about her (again), and to visit Nerdanel’s studio soon and see her progress. 

Findekáno had made it to his room -- but not before shouting for hot water to be brought up to him -- and dropped the letter on his desk, to be replied to when he was in a better mood. With a sharp sigh, Findekáno began to pace around his room, shucking off his clothes impatiently. There was a knock at his door.

“Come in!” he barked. A servant came in with the hot water and a heavy look of disapproval. Findekáno scowled back and wait until his bath was ready. He dismissed the servant and sank into the water with a sigh. 

The damp made his braid heavy against his already aching scalp, since in his haste he had forgotten to unbind his hair. He did so now slowly, carefully, with far more attention than the task deserved. Finally, when he was done and his hair floated around him, Findekáno’s head sank under the warm, soapy water. 

He hated that his first and second instinct was to talk to Maitimo. But why should that be? Couldn’t Maitimo come to him, for once? Findekáno rose and blew out the soapy water from his mouth. 

“There’s nothing for it,” he said aloud. “Maitimo must know.” 

There was kick at his door. Irissë’s voice came faintly through the heavy wood. “You still owe me! Remember, Findekáno! Half!” 

 

\+ 

 

The next day, Findekáno made peace with Irissë, promising her not half, but the whole of his monthly jewelry budget. She listened to both his apologies and promises stonily, and only looked up from her breakfast once to say, in a flat voice, “I know there’s no truth to the rumors. I only thought you might want to know, that’s all.” 

Arakáno, who had been picking at his breakfast, pricked up his ears. “What rumors? Is it the one about Findekáno and his secret wife in the Weaver’s Quarter?” 

“Oh,” Findekáno said, vastly relieved, “is that all?” 

“No one tells me, I’m just a child,” Arakáno said, with quiet dignity. 

“Not really,” Irissë said. 

With a sad shake of his head, Findekáno departed for the palace. He had questioned some of the friendlier guards earlier and knew that the odds were good that both Fëanáro and Maitimo were meeting with Finwë, in the east wing of the palace. 

The east wing was original home of Finwë and Míriel Serindë, and it was not, strictly speaking east of anything, as it was merely surrounded by other parts of the palace that had been built after the queen’s death. Findekáno had never been here, though he knew its history well enough. 

Míriel Serindë’s presence seemed to linger on here, from its antiquated architecture and decor to her tapestries that still hung on the walls. They were her lesser works, if such an artist could be said to have lesser works. Fëanáro had taken most of his mother’s work, and Finwë had the rest hung in his own chambers. The ones that remained were too delicate to be moved, though there were plans to do so at some future time. 

Findekáno paused to look at them, and it was not difficult to believe that Míriel had been a broideress like no other. Scene after scene stretched out before him, mostly showing Elves on the Great Journey. Among the Elves and birds and beasts of all description, there were other things, lurking in the shadows. 

Things that had too many legs, too many hands to be real, surely? 

One such part of the tapestry had an Elf, with tarnished hair that had once been gold, wandering into a gaping maw of a cave. Though her face was no bigger than Findekáno’s own fingernail, he could see clearly the expression on her face, the fear and apprehension. 

The cave’s darkness seemed alive somehow, undulating, moving… 

Somewhere down the hall, someone opened a door. Findekáno fought a sudden impulse to hide himself behind a tapestry. Instead, he squared his shoulders and went down the hall a little ways, towards the source of the draft. He saw that on the left there was another corridor, at the end of which was a door. Someone was leaning against it, his head bent almost to his chest. Findekáno could recognize that head anywhere, and the rest of him too. 

“Maitimo!” 

Maitimo looked up, and his face transformed from pure indifference to joy, and then tempered into cautious sort of happiness. He was carrying something, which he dropped to the floor. It made a dull metal thud on the stone floor. They both reached for it, but Findekáno got to it first. He pulled it out leather sheath and examined the object closely.

He knew what it was, of course. Swords and bows and other kinds of weapons were used in the Great Journey, and many families had not thrown away these antiques when they had come to Aman. Instead, they hung on walls and over mantlepieces. 

This, however, was nothing like the roughly forged swords of the Great Journey, nor like the thin, mostly decorative rapiers that were used for dueling. It was a beautiful thing, so finely crafted that Findekáno had no doubt that it had been made by Fëanáro himself, not by an apprentice, nor a son. 

Maitimo sighed loudly and said, “Findekáno, give that back.” 

“In a minute,” Findekáno said mildly. He held it up to the light and took an experimental swing of it.

It was heavier than it looked, and the edges looked almost absurdly sharp. There were fine jewels encased in the pommel and delicate engravings on body of the sword itself, but it was clearly not just a piece of art, but an instrument made to maim and kill. 

And it felt -- it felt _right_ in Findekáno’s hands, like it had been made for him. He looked up to Maitimo, a thousand questions in his head. Maitimo held out his hand for the sword, which Findekáno gave back to him -- reluctantly. 

“Did your father make this for Haru?” 

Maitimo said, “Yes. If You must wait a little if you want to see him -- he is in a meeting with Atar and I have been sent away to guard the door.” 

“But why?” 

Maitimo shook his head slightly and said, “You know -- whenever Atar gets it into his head to make something, there’s usually no stopping him. But it is nothing to --” 

At that moment, the door opened and Fëanáro stepped out. The eldest son of Finwë, the greatest of the Eldar and a difficult man to deal with besides, gave the scene before him a brief overview. 

He looked rather put out. 

“Findekáno,” he said. 

“Uncle,” Findekáno said with a nod. 

Though Fëanáro looked like he wanted to correct him, for once, he forbade the temptation, though the struggle showed clearly in his face. He cleared his throat and said, “I have not seen you in my home for a long time, Findekáno. Have you forsaken us?” 

“Not at all, I will gladly go at anyone’s invitation,” Findekáno said carefully. 

“There was a time when you needed no invitation,” Fëanáro said mildly.

After an awkward pause, Maitimo said suddenly, “Findekáno was just admiring your fine work on the sword, Atar.” 

“And I wonder what use could it be, here in Aman,” Findekáno said, “we have no monsters to slay here, nor evil to fear.”

“Truly, Aman is free from evil creatures,” Fëanáro said, “But not evil thoughts. Especially here in Tirion. People seem to trade rumors here as if they were currency.” 

“And yet you cannot run through a rumor with a sword,” Findekáno said.

“And if you were to run through the rumor-monger, the evil-doer would be yourself,” Maitimo finished smoothly, giving both of them a complacent smile. 

“Yes, well,” Fëanáro said with a sniff. He would have continued on, except he was interrupted by Finwë, who emerged from the room, looking vaguely troubled. 

“Ah,” he said, his face breaking into a broad smile, “what a welcome surprise to see you here, all of you!” 

“Haru, it is good to see you,” Findekáno said, hesitating a little. Finwë came over to him, patting his cheeks affectionately. “How much you look like your father when he was your age! It does my heart good to see you. The wedding, I suppose, is keeping everyone busy?” 

“Yes, though I am not directly involved in the preparations.” 

“Still,” Finwë said, “a wedding’s a fine thing, to bring a family like ours together. I hope there are many more to come.” 

Fëanáro, who had been standing idle for too long, took the sword from Maitimo and swept past them. He was half-way down the hall before he turned and said, “Yes, well, Atar, I must go -- this is not quite ready and I’ve left Curvo to finish the rest, but -- nevermind. Nelyo, come along.” 

Maitimo did not follow him. Fëanáro turned, faintly puzzled. “Nelyo?” 

“Atar, I’d like to stay and speak to Findekáno, if I could.” 

“Hm,” Fëanáro said. “All right, but remember -- you are needed at home, as soon as possible. Goodbye, Atar. Findekáno.” With a final nod to Finwë, he was gone. 

Fëanáro’s very absence seemed to have a presence of its own. Very nice! It followed the three back to the main hall. Finwë was distracted and silent and turned aside to go to another part of the palace. He offered them lunch, but they both declined. 

Findekáno and Maitimo were finally alone. Maitimo was quiet, almost moody. He was still dressed in his scholar’s garb, black and severe. It was only his bright hair and copper circlet that gave hint to his princely status. 

Feigning to adjust his own sleeves, Findekáno tried to take Maitimo’s hand. But Maitimo put his hand out of reach, saying with a sigh, “Leave off, Findekáno. I’m not in the mood.” 

At Findekáno’s hurt look, he shook his head. “Nevermind. Follow me, I want to show you something.” 

They walked down two long corridors, Maitimo leading the way, until they came to door that opened to a small mossy courtyard, which was overshadowed by a clock-tower that dominated the little square of sky. A small fountain bubbled in the middle, its basin green with algae. The figure in the middle of the fountain was so worn by time that it was difficult to see what it had once been. 

“It is said that my grandmother taught my father how to walk in this courtyard,” Maitimo said, looking around. All of the windows looking out into the courtyard were dark and empty, and yet, still seemed to be full of watchers. 

After casting around a safe topic of conversation, Findekáno said, “I saw a sculpture of you at your mother’s studio -- one that I had never seen it before! I helped set it on the alcove where -- well, where Fëanáro’s sculpture had been.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t very safe topic, because Maitimo frowned deeply. “I thought she’d destroyed that awful thing. I did ask her to, when it was made.” 

“Why? It’s a perfect likeness! And so beautiful!” 

“No, you’re wrong. You see, I -- and so the sculpture too -- we have a long mouth,” Maitimo said, rubbing that mouth with his fingers thoughtfully. “It’s impossible to be beautiful with that. It really throws off my entire face.” 

Findekáno stopped protesting and stared at him. He felt his cheeks go very red, even as Maitimo gave him a silly grin. 

“You vain old cockerel!” Findekáno exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. It was unfortunate that Findekáno now could not stop looking at it, either Maitimo, his mouth, which was pulled into an entirely charming, if crooked, grin. “Nerdanel said it was your ears you hated.” 

“Those too,” Maitimo said agreeably, and Findekáno found himself agreeably distracted by the thought of Maitimo’s mouth, and even his ears, which, despite his words were as perfect as the rest of him. 

But. Swords. Rumors. _What he had sought Maitimo out for._ Not for flirtation, however good that might feel, but for information. 

“Maitimo,” Findekáno said seriously. “What are those swords for?” 

Maitimo’s face fell. “Swords?” 

“I cannot believe there is only one. Your father said Curufinwë was making more.”

Maitimo shook his head. “I cannot tell you that. Or what they’re for.” 

“If you do not, then when words gets out, all would assume the worst,” Findekáno said. 

Maitimo’s face hardened. “If the word should get out. What will you do, Findekáno? Tell your father?” 

“Well, I will have to.” 

“You think he does not already know?” 

“Perhaps he’s heard a rumor,” Findekáno said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “There’s a lot of that going around.” 

His back stiffening, Maitimo said, “What about them? Do you believe them? Or do you think my side starts them?” 

“Sides?” Findekáno said, dismayed. “Are we on different sides now?” 

Maitimo looked as though he was going to say yes, before he shook his head. Almost angrily, he said, “No! I don’t believe that -- Findekáno, let’s go somewhere else, shall we? I don’t like it here -- it’s oppressive.” 

As if on cue, Findekáno’s stomach rumbled, and the tension dissipated. Maitimo shook his head ruefully and Findekáno shrugged and said, “Well, that is something I can agree with, at least! Where shall we go? -- And can we get something to eat beforehand?” 

“What about your fountain? The one at the Weaver’s Quarter? You know, I’ve never seen it.” 

“Then come on,” Findekáno said, taking Maitimo’s hand and leading him out of the gloomy courtyard. 

\+ 

They had a meal that consisted of a loaf of herb-crusted bread and hunk of yellow cheese -- “Fine, simple fare,” Findekáno said cheerfully, almost swallowing his portion whole. Maitimo ate his portion more sedately, but with equal satisfaction. They argued, briefly, over who should foot the bill, but decided to split the cost. Already, the day had turned to evening, almost to night and the activity in the streets began to pick up.

Though Maitimo’s distinctive hair was covered by a hood, his height could not be so hidden. As they were walking through the Weaver’s Quarter, on their way to the fountain, a woman approached them. She was wearing an embroidered white cap, indicating her job as a seamstress, stopped Maitimo and started to exclaim over him. 

“Why!” She said, her eyes rounded, her hand on his arm. “You look the image of Prince Nelyafinwë” Then considering the matter further, she said, “Except he is a little taller and much better-looking.” 

“Thank you,” Maitimo said gravely. “I’ve heard that before.” 

She gave his hand a comforting pat and drifted away to group of similarly dressed people, who all turned their attention to the two princes. 

“Come on, before they realize who you really are,” Findekáno said, and they ducked into an archway.

The archway led to a tunnel, the tunnel led to a square, the square led to another, until they came to the fountain at last. The place had changed entirely from the time Findekáno had been here last. Though it was still quite deserted, the square did not have the sad, neglected air that it had worn before. Someone had taken pains to sweep the cobblestones, and though the shops were shut, the signs were still out, promising sales and bargains when next they opened. 

And of course, the fountain bubbled and gushed. Its stones had been washed and polished, and the jets cleaned so that water issued forth not just from the main geyser, but also all around the central figure. Telperion’s light fell upon the water and transformed it into silver arches and spires, structures that were as beautiful as they were ephemeral. 

“Very nice,” Maitimo said. “You must be quite proud of your work here.” 

Findekáno shook his head. “Not my work, not in the least. It was Ethelion and the people who live here that did all that. All I did was notice a little girl and her water jug. Sit with me?” 

And they sat on the marble lip of the fountain, looking out into the deserted square while the waters danced and whispered behind them. Findekáno said, “I wish you could meet Nindë. She is quite a girl -- her father is a supporter of yours, and now she works for Aunt Nerdanel. Funny, isn’t it? I confess, I don’t like it much, seeing our city split down the middle like that. Between your father’s followers and mine. It makes our -- friendship -- seem that much more improbable.” 

Maitimo only nodded, and silence grew between them, like a rapidly growing bubble about to burst. Findekáno cocked his head, as if listening for something. Maitimo, too, seemed deep in thought, his brow slightly furrowed. Findekáno bumped against his shoulder and he looked up, expectant. 

Maitimo’s lips parted a little, but he did not speak. 

Findekáno said, “Despite everything --- all of this --” he gestured to their surroundings, the Treelight, the fountain, the square, “could be described as -- well, quite romantic.” 

Maitimo gave a vague look around, with the attitude of seeing nothing. Softly, he said, “Findekáno! We do need to talk. But listen to me, all right? Don’t interrupt until I’ve had my say. I think -- I know that we should stop seeing each other.” 

Findekáno took a deep breath. He was expecting it, but somehow it did not hurt less for all of that. “I thought this was coming.” 

“But do you know why?” 

“All I know are rumors, speculation. Your father is forging swords and grows jealous for his Silmarils. He argues with my father every chance he gets. I wish he had never made those things.” 

Maitimo gave him a sharp look. “It is not the Silmarils’ fault if our fathers fight. The present discontent is not wholly of my father’s making.”

“Nor is it of mine,” Findekáno said grimly. “But whose father, I wonder, has Melkor always whispering his ear? Though they say that Melkor has changed, of course, and his past sins have been forgiven…” 

“My father is not influenced by Melkor in the least, I will not have any say so in my presence! In others, I would not endure it so long, and in you --” Maitimo’s voice wavered a little. 

Findekáno looked away for a moment and then said, “What does Fëanáro plan to do, with his swords and his Silmarils? Does he hope to use the swords against -- us?” 

“No!” Maitimo seemed shocked at the very notion. “I would never let him do that, he would never want to!”

“Then what?” Findekáno’s voice was now desperate and shaking.

“You know that when we were younger, we often spoke of retaking Endórë, now that Melkor is no longer a threat… My father believes that now is the time to make that plan into reality.” 

“And with his Silmarils, he can show its benighted inhabitants the light of the West? I beg your pardon, Nelyafinwë…” Maitimo winced at the use of his father-name, but Findekáno went remorselessly on, “But even a child could see the many problems inherent in this plan! Melkor may no longer be there, but the evil he wrought there remains.” 

“I never knew you to be a coward,” Maitimo said shortly. 

“I hope there is a difference between valor and stupidity,” Findekáno hissed. “And besides, I do not believe your father is so generous as all that. Not that it matters -- the Valar would never give him leave to go.” 

Maitimo snorted impatiently. “And why would we need their leave? We came here out of our own free-will, certainly we can leave in the same way. And you, Findekáno, do you then give the Valar permission to poke their noses so freely into you life, and your decisions? For I can tell you now, however you may fool yourself, they would judge you harshly indeed, for your love of your male cousin.” 

This could not be borne.

Findekáno cried aloud, “So this is the reason you would break it off! Could it be that you, Maitimo, fear that same judgment would fall on yourself? Then you are a coward and I am ashamed of you. I would declare my love for you in the main square of Tirion, on market day. I do not care what others think of me.” 

“Findekáno the Valiant rises to the challenge once again --!” Maitimo sprang up and began to pace in front of the fountain. 

Findekáno followed him behind him, his stomach sinking, his disappointment complete. He felt as though the very last of illusions about Maitimo were being stripped away before his eyes, leaving being someone all-too-ordinary, and all too-fallible. 

For he was convinced that Maitimo was making a terrible mistake. “Maitimo, listen,” he cried out softly, “I do not care what your father does. He may make a thousand swords and make war with the Valar for all I care. My only concern is of you.” 

He tried to catch Maitimo’s hand, but his cousin pulled away. 

Maitimo turned and muttered, “You are being dense, willfully misunderstanding me.” He was working himself up into a state of cold fury that Findekáno had never seen in him -- though he had seen it in Fëanáro. 

Maitimo said, “Do you not think I know this plan has no hope of working? That every fight he starts with your father brings us that closer to the edge? I know it, I can see it with my own eyes. This entire city is in the process of ripping itself apart -- and there is nothing I can do about it.”

“Maitimo, if we could go to our grandfather, to address him as our king and as the head of our family, perhaps there would be some hope of a solution?” Findekáno clasped Maitimo’s shoulder, but Maitimo only shook his head. 

“My father says that sometimes he hears fell voices in the air -- if he says that aloud, in court, he will be laughed at; they will think him mad.” 

“Who are _they?_ We are his family, and yours.” 

“My father is very good at disowning members of his family who dare to disagree with him.” 

“Even if Fëanáro completely disowned you, you would still have me,” Findekáno said, coming close to Maitimo and cupping his cheek. Their kiss was light and lingering, despite the harshness of their words. Findekáno pulled away and blinked. Something in him ached, and he wished to hang on a little more, but already Maitimo stepped away from him, his expression serious. 

“Don’t you see?” Maitimo said with a small smile, “I’m doing you a favor, breaking this thing off. You can find some nice girl to marry, have children, be like Turukáno. I would see you happy and with children of your own -- I think you would make a good father.” 

Findekáno wanted to start shouting, but he managed to contain himself -- but just barely. He said, in a tight whisper, “ _You always do this._ Look, I know I am not as brilliant as the great Nelyafinwë Maitimo, but nor am I a stupid child for you to manage. I will not marry someone, having loved another. To do so would be to inflict misery on us all --- to the woman who would be my wife, and on me, and on you. I would not do it, no, not even on your say-so!” 

Maitimo took a step back and said, in a surprised voice, “No, I suppose not. Of course you must do whatever you think is best.” 

“Then, Maitimo, I think it is best that we face whatever happens next -- together. You seem to think it will make our estrangement inevitable. But I do not believe this is so. And I cannot let you ruin your own happiness.” 

Despite their shouting, the square around them was still quiet, still deserted; there was not a single light in any of the windows facing them.

Maitimo said, quietly, “You think that you are my happiness?” 

“A part of it, yes.” 

Maitimo nodded, not arguing, but still inexorable. “Nonetheless.” 

There was a long, heavy silence, which Findekáno broke by saying, “But what about the wedding?” 

Startled, Maitimo said, “What about it?” 

“You can’t break my heart and then come to my little brother’s wedding! It wouldn’t do at all. And think of the party you’ll miss, the fun. Now, Maitimo, put this out of your mind entirely.” 

Findekáno patted Maitimo’s chest comfortingly. “I will do my best to forget it, too.” 

Maitimo threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed weirdly in the stillness of the square. Then he shook his head, as if to detangle the thoughts lurking within. “Káno, you’re impossible.” 

Miserably, but still with a tinge of humor, Findekáno said, “You’re making a dreadful mistake. We are meant to be together, I know it like I know nothing else.” 

“If it is a mistake, then let me make it. Káno, do you not see how very -- how very limiting this thing is; love, I mean? I have seen couples who went about wrapped so tightly in their love that it ended up blinding them, choking them, until they had no choice left than to be apart. I do not want that to happen to us -- it is better to have a gap between us -- a wide one. As there should be. That distance should be there.” 

And indeed, it seemed to Findekáno that Maitimo was a stranger then, so transformed was he.

Slowly, Findekáno said, “You make no sense at all. But -- those couples you mentioned -- one of them wouldn’t happen to be your parents, would they?”

Maitimo gave him that crooked grin of his. “Of course.” 

“But we are nothing like them! Our passion will not be spent on children --” 

“Pardon me, Findekáno, but I must stop you from getting any further. I love each of my brothers dearly, and I know my parents do as well. None of them were the cause of our parents’ estrangement.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Findekáno muttered. 

“I know, but there is no more to say -- and I must go. Goodbye, Findekáno, and -- forgive me, will you?” 

Maitimo turned to leave, his steps slow. He stopped when Findekáno said, “Maitimo, wait.” 

He turned to listen. “What?” 

Findekáno said, “Come to the wedding anyway. I won’t bother you and --- well, you’ve already said that you would. It would be a shame to waste those dinners, Amil would be very displeased.” 

Maitimo smiled. “Impossible! But I will come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the excessive length of this chapter! It's been peculating for a while now and grew and grew. 
> 
> Many thanks to Elleth for having a look at it, despite her cold. She is good and valiant friend. ♥


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted. First I thought I would finish it after Yuletide, but that didn't happen. Thank you for all you who have been reading along. This has been a wild ride -- from a little one-shot to a fully fledged (if a little messy) longfic in year or so! Wow! 
> 
> So many thanks to Elleth! She is magnificent. ♥

How Findekáno managed to get home after his meeting with Maitimo was a mystery, even to himself. The next thing he knew, he was in bed, unable to move. _There is nothing wrong with me_ , he thought, as distantly, the world moved around him. His mother came in, looking worried, and even his father looked in, and shook his head in puzzlement. 

Arakáno, who was too old for such things, hovered around the edges of Findekáno’s vision at one point and then refused to leave. He leaned over Findekáno’s bed, taking pleasure in his new height. Arakáno was growing like a weed now, taller than both Írissë and their mother. 

“You smell,” he said, tugging at Findekáno’s braid to make sure he had his attention. 

When Findekáno glared at him, Arakáno merely grinned. 

“Brat,” Findekáno said, “what day is it?” 

“It is Turukáno’s wedding day,” Arakáno said solemnly. Findekáno covered his face with his blanket and groaned.

* 

Turukáno was oddly calm, as he and Findekáno waited for the door and let Elenwë and her family into the throne room, where the marriage ceremony was to take place. Findekáno stood by his brother’s side because of tradition -- in the bad old days before coming to Aman, it was not unheard of for wedding parties to be attacked before a marriage could take place. If the groom was killed in the fight, his brother -- or friend -- could take his place.

Findekáno had no expectation that any such thing would happen here, but still he ran a nervous hand across the scabbard at his side and wished there were something in it. Of course, the thing was purely ceremonial -- he wasn’t even sure the tailor who had made it had ever seen a sword before. But still; it was a lovely thing, made of soft leather with the sigils of their house stitched into it. 

Turukáno made a noise low in his throat. In a whisper, he said, “Stop looking so nervous. One would think you were the one getting married.” 

Findekáno stilled. “You seem perfectly calm.” 

“I am. It is the calmness that comes from knowing that you are exactly where you need to be, doing exactly what you need to do.” 

Findekáno nodded and felt, not for the first time, that he did not really know his younger brother that well. He had already been of age when Turukáno was born, and often away from home as he was growing. They had never, to his recollection, spent more than a few hours together at a time. 

The difficulties between them that sometimes cropped up, he knew, were due to a lack of understanding rather than a lack of love. Turukáno was so -- self-contained and calm. Findekáno felt almost wild in comparison, and certainly a little bit childish. But still, he had a duty to perform as well. 

“I know you will be happy, and honor Elenwë in all things,” Findekáno said at last, as the doors began to open before them. 

“Yes, and I hope you will find such bliss yourself, brother,” Turukáno replied, just as the music began and Elenwë entered, accompanied by her family and friends. Her eyes were shining and the smile on her face had a companion in the smile on Turukáno’s face. 

At least all eyes were on Turukáno and not him. Findekáno had never wished for less scrutiny than at this moment. The wedding guests all filed in and filled the hall. Finwë was not partial to over-long ceremonies, and since he was the one presiding over this one, the event went by quickly. 

It was based on an ancient tradition, and it had not yet wandered too far from its roots. On the platform, where usually Finwë and Indis sat and kept court, only Turukáno and Elenwë now stood, richly dressed and hand-in-hand. The vows they spoke were of their own composition -- some of the older Elves frowned at that, but that was the fashion of the time -- and kissed, to seal their promise. 

Of course, they would bind themselves together later, in the privacy of their matrimonial bed, with Eru as their only witness (and surely even then, Eru could be expected to turn his eyes away after the oaths had been exchanged). 

* 

Both Turukáno and Elenwë seemed to float around the festivities as if they were walking on air. They had eyes for only each other. Their happiness, Findekáno privately thought, was a sight. 

A cough interrupted his thoughts. Fëanáro gave him a disdainful look; he was not used to being ignored. 

“Good evening, Uncle,” Findekáno said mechanically, industriously not looking above his uncle’s shoulder. “I am very glad to see you here.” 

“Well, yes, your grandfather felt --” Fëanáro began to say before, sharply, he interrupted himself. “Is there anything I can help you with, Findekáno? Who are you looking for?” 

“Maitimo didn’t come with you?” Findekáno said, not caring that he was being abrupt. Lining up behind Fëanáro, with various degrees of resignation, were six of his sons. Makalaurë waved. Maitimo was nowhere in sight. 

Fëanáro harumphed and looked, if possible, even more put-out. “He chose to accompany Nerdanel. You’ll see him by-and-by, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” said Findekáno. He didn’t quite know if he was glad or sorry for the news. 

* 

For everyone else’s purposes, however, the wedding was over, and the party could begin. Everywhere in the royal chambers, there were flowers, both white and pink. Strings of pearls connected high vases full of flowers. In honor of Elenwë’s Vanya heritage, it was the fashion for everyone to dust their hair and brows liberally with gold dust and wear light, sheer clothing. But the crowd being (mostly) Noldorin, heavily jeweled ornaments made their appearance on many necks and ears, not to mention foreheads. 

Findekáno declined the gold dust. His own customary gold threads looked quite plain against such showy glamour, but then again, he coughed less too, whenever he chose to move. The music was excellent. Makalaurë had easily ousted the conductor for the night and taken over. Ecthelion was in the orchestra pit, wearing a ferocious expression on his face; his flute looked like it could double as a weapon. The music they made was extraordinary, the sort that stuck long in one’s memory as long as the world lasted. 

Findekáno wandered through the crowd, doing his best to seem interested in what everyone had to say. Despite his own vow not to get too involved with any particular argument, he was drawn into one with Angaráto, about the likelihood that Tirion would again triumph against Aqualondë in that year’s Games. 

Angaráto was ever-ready to hurl insults. His temper, though quick, cooled just as quickly, and he was ready to make friends again. And Findekáno enjoyed giving back as good as he got. He felt a touch of guilty -- here, on the night of Turukáno’s wedding -- but in certain ways he was closer to his cousins than his younger brother. 

“So,” Angaráto said, bumping against Findekáno’s shoulder. “I have seen neither hide nor hair from you in quite a while. What have you been doing with yourself?” 

“Well, I grew sick of listening to your belly-aching over your love-affairs. Though I suppose Eldalótë had put a stop to that.” 

“Yes,” Angaráto said fervently, “I can hardly talk of anyone else but her.” 

“Ah, but there you go. Love is a dull subject, unless you happen to be in love yourself.” 

“Ah nothing!” Angaráto began to look angry. “How can you go on like that when everyone says you have had your heart broken! And you never mentioned it to me!” 

Findekáno felt the world crash around his ears. “Who said that?” 

“It has been the only talk for the last two days. It is supposed that you were in love with a mysterious lady, and Maitimo was the same. You two were heard arguing at the top of your lungs in some obscure corner of the weaver’s quarter. Is it true, Findekáno? I cannot believe it!” 

“I --” Findekáno closed his mouth and opened it again. “I assure you that it is quite true, although the reasons are different -- the lady chose neither me nor Maitimo. And thus we quarreled.” 

“Oh,” Angaráto said. “Well, I suppose you two ought to patch things up. Because I see him coming in just now.” 

Findekáno could hardly hear what else Angaráto was saying… 

“Findekáno, Eldalótë and I want you to be our third tomorrow afternoon for lawn-tennis. Don’t make excuses not to come.” 

“I suppose I’ll be partnered up with Aikanáro?” Findekáno said glumly.

“Of course.” 

“Ah. Well, I suppose I don’t need to win…” 

“I’ll tell him you said that. Oh, there you are Maitimo! Good to see you! I must go -- remember, Findekáno!”

It was difficult not to feel betrayed as Angaráto scurried away, but it was much more difficult to turn around and look at Maitimo, and then greet him. But Findekáno was not called valiant for nothing -- he was not afraid of pain. Much. “Hello, Maitimo,” he said, finally, trying to smile up at his cousin serenely. 

The crowd parted before them and they drifted to a deserted spot behind some pillars. Findekáno leaned against one of them and stared at Maitimo. Maitimo was looking very well and virtually untouched by any gold dust. Maitimo brushed away an invisible speck of it from his shoulder, and then looked to Findekáno. 

Findekáno had planned to say much to Maitimo when next he saw him, but now that his cousin was before him, Findekáno’s lips were sealed. He did not even feel angry -- only a sort of emptiness where he thought anger should be. And he could only stare. 

“Findekáno,” Maitimo said, and paused while Findekáno continued to bore holes into his head. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” Maitimo said, a touch impatiently. 

“Like what? I know you like being looked at,” Findekáno said, his anger returning to him. 

Maitimo flushed and said, “You are like a spoiled child, peevish because he’s been denied his favorite toy.”

“You took me aside to just to insult me?” 

“No --”, for the first time, it seemed as if Maitimo was uncertain. “I wanted to speak to you.” 

“We are speaking.” 

“Káno, please,” Maitimo said, biting his lower lip. Suddenly, a smile stole on to his face, irresistible as always. Findekáno felt himself blush, despite his growing indignation. Oh, it had been a monstrous mistake to fall in love with someone who knew him so well -- too well. Maitimo knew exactly how to hurt him -- and then, how to charm him.

But Findekáno resolved to harden his heart. He would not be swayed, no matter how handsome Maitimo looked. (And he looked very handsome, indeed.) 

“What do you want, Maitimo?” Findekáno said in a weary tone that he had often heard from his father. 

“Walk with me,” Maitimo said, gesturing to the corridor that lead away from the noisy hall. Findekáno followed him with barely a sigh. They did not speak at all as they made their way down the hall, and then down another, until Maitimo opened a door that led outside into the night-garden. He waited until Findekáno had come through, and then disappeared again. Maitimo knew of more hiding places, bolt-holes and forgotten places in the palace than anyone, except perhaps Finwë himself. 

Here grew flowers that bloomed under Telperion’s light. Their fragrance hung heavily in the air -- it was curiously still, with not a breath of wind to stir the leaves. Findekáno allowed himself to be distracted by the setting, and did not look up when Maitimo approached him. 

“Here,” Maitimo said, and Findekáno took a step backward, staring at the sword in Maitimo’s hand. Findekáno reached for his belt -- but of course, he had nothing to defend himself with. 

Maitimo’s face fell. “Do you not like it?”

He held it out to Findekáno, who said nothing, but took it. It was a little lighter than the other sword had been, and Findekáno realized, fit exactly in his grip. He swung it, experimentally, marveling at the way the light caught on the blue stones of the hilt. 

“Sapphire?” he said and Maitimo nodded. 

“If you like it, it’s yours.” 

“Maitimo, this is a lordly gift. But I cannot accept --” 

“Nonsense,” Maedhros said, the picked up another sword that had been hidden in the grasse. In design and shape, it was a twin of Fingon’s -- except the hilt was studded with red stones instead of blue. 

“Who made them?” 

“I did,” Maitimo said, with not a little pride and Findekáno could not help but smile. Everything aside, Maitimo was still a son of Fëanáro, and almost as proud of his own work.

“Does your father know that you gave me this sword?” Findekáno said, straightening his stance, while Maitimo did the same. Unconsciously, they had moved to dueling positions. But they lacked the light foils, the armor that went with it. There was a sense of danger in the air that stirred Findekáno’s blood. I am enjoying this, he thought in wonder. I want it. 

“It is my work, to do with as I wish,” Maitimo said, and lunged toward him. 

“So, that would be a no, I take it?” Findekáno said, easily parrying his thrust. No doubt, some day they would be equally matched, but for now, Maitimo had the advantage, and had no qualms about pressing it. Findekáno fought hard for every inch of ground he took, and bitterly resented every inch he lost. There was a sudden tear, and he blinked. The sleeve of his fine new robe had a large rent in it. 

“Findekáno?” Maitimo said, lowering his defenses momentarily.

Findekáno did not reply, instead, he threw all his strength into disarming Maitimo. Their sword clashed to the ground, and Findekáno brought Maitimo down as well. They peered at each other for a moment until Maitimo snorted sharply. “You swine, I thought you might be hurt.” 

“You ruined my best robe,” Findekáno said. 

“Fuck your robe,” Maitimo said, dusting off Findekáno’s shoulder with a lazy flick of his hand. He looked up at Findekáno and refused to fight any longer, and so, with a sigh, Findekáno lay next to him quietly. They watched the sky for a long while, as the silver light shifted across the horizon, with the stars faintly visible behind it. 

“It was thoughtless of me to pursue you. No, it was unconscionable, ” Maitimo said at last. “Forgive me.” 

Findekáno remembered it. The race, the kiss. “There is nothing to forgive on that account,” he said at last. 

“But there are for others?” Maitimo said, his eyebrows raised. 

“Why did you break it off with me? Be honest. Did someone find out?” 

Maitimo stilled. “It was only a matter of time. Findekáno, you know it.” 

“Your mother knows, did I tell you?” 

“It is not my mother I worry about.” 

“You worry too much,” Findekáno said, rolling over to his side. Maitimo turn too, so they were eye-to-eye. 

“And this is the point where you kiss me?” Maitimo said. 

“Perhaps, in a different story,” Findekáno said, getting up. “Thank you for the sword. I’ll keep it.” He held out his hand to Maitimo, who took it after a moment. 

“Then I’ve ruined it,” Maitimo said, a touch wistfully. 

“Maitimo, my dear, haven’t you realized it by now? That I would rather have you as my friend than any lover in the world.” 

Maitimo seemed to consider this. “Then you’ve given me up?” 

“No,” Findekáno said with a laugh, “only I have realized that I must learn patience, by-and-by.” He took up the sword that had been lying on the grass and examined it. “It would make a great sensation if I go back wearing this on my belt...” He wondered if his ceremonial scabbard could even hold it. 

He decided not to risk it. Maitimo knew of another place where he could store it until the party was over -- a rarely-used closet, halfway in between the throne-room and the night-gardens. After moment, Maitimo stepped in with him. 

Not one to waste an opportunity once presented, Findekáno turned to him and said in a quiet voice: “Who was it that saw us?” 

Maitimo shook his head. “That is not something I wish to speak of.” 

“Maitimo! It is half my secret too,” Findekáno, leaning against Maitimo in what he hoped was a meaningful way. Maitimo was still against him -- almost stiff -- and he wondered if his cousin would push him away. But Maitimo only sighed and looked down. 

“It was nothing. Only an … associate of my father’s had a falling out with him, and was thrown out of the house. I happened to pass him on the way home, and he asked after you in a particularly ugly way. I thought --” He sighed. “I do not care what others think of me. But you deserve better. It is not because I am ashamed of what we are to each other. Only I could not stand to have us remarked at, in that way. You are mine --” 

Here, Findekáno smiled suddenly, before schooling his features into a grave mask. He felt that there was much missing from this story -- namely, the identity of this associate. That Fëanáro had stopped accepting apprentices was by now well-known. He worked mostly with Curufinwë. But the way Maitimo had shuddered when he described him… Suddenly, Findekáno felt faintly sick. 

“-- And I will not have them touch you.” 

“It would not matter to me,” Findekáno said. 

Maitimo gave him a weary smile. “Findekáno the Valiant! Not all of us are as brave as you, you know.” 

“My valor is greatly exaggerated -- Maitimo, I --” 

“You said that you would learn patience, Findekáno. Is that true?” 

“Yes. I know now that whatever happens now, we will still be together at the end of it. And I can wait.” 

“Even centuries, millenias?” 

“To the end of Arda, Maitimo.” 

“I do not think you know what you promise,” Maitimo said slowly. “I do not know if I do either. But I swear the same.” 

“Good,” Findekáno said, and craned his head up to kiss him. 

*** 

The party had expanded alarmingly in the time they had been away. People who had not been present during the wedding now streamed in through the open doors of the hall, dressed in their finest clothes, all eager to see and be seen. The crowds were heavy, but they parted easily to let both Maitimo and Findekáno through. His absence had been noticed after all, and Findekáno felt intense scrutiny upon him. He straightened his spine accordingly. Maitimo moved with the careless grace that came naturally to him. 

Findekáno wished that he could take his hand -- even lie a friendly hand on his shoulder -- but instead, they walked side by until they came to Nerdanel, who was deep in conversation with Indis, their hands around each other’s waists. Indis greeted them both warmly. 

Nerdanel gave a cynical chuckle and said, “Oh Maitimo, you dog. I should have known that when you offered to accompany me to the wedding, you were really planning me to abandon me as soon as we arrived. Hello, Findekáno. There’s a tear in your robe.” 

Stammering slightly, Findekáno said, “It was my fault, Aunt, I waylaid him.”

Just as Maitimo said, “I had something to show Findekáno.”

Nerdanel was quiet for a moment before she burst out laughing. Indis turned to her, faintly puzzled. “What’s wrong, my dear?” she asked her. 

“It is only that the young are getting more foolish by the hour,” Nerdanel said after she had stopped her laughter. Maitimo grew red at that and said, in a rather plaintive voice, “Mother, please.” 

“I’m embarrassing him,” Nerdanel said to Indis. “But it seems no so long ago that he would run through the halls of this palace without a stitch of clothing on him.” 

Findekáno snickered when he saw the agonized expression on Maitimo’s face. 

“Ah, Findekáno was much the same,” Indis said with a smile. “Though he was more likely to fall out of trees and other, higher places.” 

“I can believe it,” Maitimo said, glaring at him. 

Findekáno coughed and raised his voice hurriedly, “Hush, everyone! Here come the bride and the bridegroom!” 

And indeed, so Elenwë and Turukáno appeared, hand-in-hand, followed by what seemed to be the all the rest of the family. Such times, one could hardly help but be happy, Findekáno thought. He let himself be swept along with the rest.


End file.
